Harold the Magnificent
by Dark-Prince-of-Clowns
Summary: In the cold Wastes of the north a dark tremmor ripples the land, and a portal has been openes to a strange new land. Sigvald the Magnificent, always eager to explore new deleriously decadent desires saunters forward into the gate. There he finds a child with emerald eyes and raven hair, and he decides he desires an heir. How will the wizarding world cope with the debauched result?
1. Chapter 1

My dear readers, it is a sordid tale I have to tell. And it is not prudent that everyone shall look upon these pages with imprudence. Nay... Some of you will shield your eyes, and look away in shame. For such a story, such a depraved and horrific tale is the tale of the great Harold the Magnificent.

As to how it all started, it all began in a small valley, far up north in the Chaos Wastes, wherein the gateways to the very realm of the Chaos Gods themselves were located. The northern wind blew snow and mist up the jagged sides of a mountain as black as the deepest night, and sharp as a dwarf's axe.

The story of its origin, of Sigvald the Magnificent, is all but lost to time and in the dark pages of history. And his story, the story of the one who began it all... That is for someone else to tell.

But on this night... A dark night. A night without moon or stars. A night of discovery, of getting lost and of discovering secrets... This is where it all began.

* * *

Sigvald the Magnificent, Geld Prince and lover of all things beautiful and pleasurable, watched as his lands spread out before him. The howling wind, and the snow that glittered in the sun. He was beginning to feel restless again.

He had just returned from his trips to the far south, but he missed the beauty of his own, dear home...and the luxuries that you could find nowhere in the world but in his very own home, The Gilded Palace. And yet it now seemed boring, dull. He had done it all before. He had travelled the world, and everywhere he went was the same dull pleasures. Humans, elves, dwarfs...they were all the same. Nobody had any imagination anymore! It frustrated him!

As he stared out over the Chaotic Wastes, he made a decision. A decision that would change the very course of history itself!

He would explore the northernmost reaches. The dark, volcanic mountains, so close to the realm of the gods, where no man had ever walked before. Where no man had ever thread. His heart began to beat faster from just thinking about it!

And so, it was that Sigvald came to discover a strange and mysterious rift in the very fabric of the universe. And the thought of new worlds and unseen things excited him! He became enthralled by the possibilities. Shook to the very core of his soul at the idea that maybe, just maybe there would be something new, something enthrallingly beautiful and exciting, still left to see!

And thus Sigvald, with his patron's blessings and promise of keeping the gateway open, began to gather those closest to him, and those more...passable as humans...as his patron had warned him against bringing anyone who could not pass for humans to this new world...and he started out on his most grand adventure yet!

THIS is the story of the rise of Harold the Magnificent, in all its depraved glory!

* * *

"I want to see how the commoners in this modern era live," Sigvald decided one day.

It took quite some time before this actually happened, however. Because Sigvald would not be caught dead wearing something that was considered detrimental to his beauty or social standing. Which meant he had to research what exactly to wear.

This was apparently a quite broad subject that the different authors had very different opinions on.

But after having travelled to what appeared to be the only large city in this cold and icy country they had emerged in, he found some British tourists that were very clearly rich and cultured, and that claimed that Anderson & Sheppard in London was the only way to go. They also wondered if he was going to a gaming convention, seeing as he was still wearing his rather skimpy, yet efficient, if gilded armour. It was probably for the best that they never realised his sword was real and quite sharp.

Naturally, he refused to wear anything less than the best, and thusly ended up spending the better part of the day working with the tailors at Anderson & Sheppard in London, as they were apparently the best. It was a good thing that his armour perfectly clings to his body as it did because Sigvald refused to risk taking it off and thereby making himself vulnerable to acquiring some kind of wound that might actually leave a scar. He shuddered at the mere thought.

Once he had gotten set up in London, someone decided to introduce this...caveman from Iceland – had he lived under a rock? – to the wonders of smartphones and the internet.

Needless to say, Sigvald was obsessed!

The internet had an information overload on fashion...then he discovered YouTube...let's just say that he was lost to the world for the next few days.

That was when he headed out to Surrey, mostly at a whim, partly because he overheard someone talking about the place as a beautiful neighbourhood, filled with lovely people.

Sigvald was sorely disappointed when he got there though. He decided to never listen to peasants again.

* * *

It was a lovely summer day when Prince Sigvald first set foot in Private Drive, Surrey.

It should come as no surprise that he had chosen to hire a limousine to get out there, but because it was such a lovely day, he opted for walking, ensuring the driver that he would call him with his brand new, top-notch smartphone when he wanted to be picked up again.

Considering that he paid the driver to wait for him, that suited the driver perfectly fine, seeing as it gave him time off from work for the time the Prince was gone. Besides, that hunchbacked servant of his gave him the creeps. Who dressed on hooded robes nowadays anyway? Must be one of the fantasy fans he'd heard about. Weirdos, the lot of them.

Sigvald and Oddrún were strolling through what turned out to be a mediocre and boring neighbourhood that surrounded Private Drive. Sigvald felt terribly disappointed. The clothes people wore! Atrocious! He felt disgusted with himself for listening to the advice of peasants. He really should have known better.

Such was his mindset when he came across a strange and unusual sight in this place made up of boredom and conformity.

At first, he was repulsed by the messy hair and the disgustingly ugly, horribly oversized clothes... But then he looked closer.

The child had the most beautiful emerald green eyes Sigvald had ever seen, and his heart fluttered with joy. He simply MUST have this child! Those emeralds belonged to him! They reminded him of the pleasant valley that his old patron, Belus Pül, and its emerald green grass, but with the same glow in them as the violet gemstone in the centre exuded. A sublime beauty.

"I want that child!" Sigvald told his advisor, "Oddrún, I must have him! He would be the perfect addition to my Court! Look at those eyes! Have you ever seen such sparkling gems of beauty! How rare! How unique! How exquisite!" Sigvald spoke animatedly in his excitement, and there was no room to even consider having his desire denied.

"But my Prince... His parents..." Oddrún tried to weakly argue.

He really didn't want to take a child away from his parents, even if they were so poor that the child had to work tending to another people's garden.

"Nonsense. Who wouldn't want a better life for their child? He is clearly poor, just look at his clothes!" Sigvald grinned. "Besides... I am quite sure I could raise such a beautiful child far better than some peasants!" Sigvald nodded to himself as if approving of his own words and logic.

"But my Prince... A child needs parents..." He again tried to reason with him, as careful as he could to avoid invoking his ire.

"Then I'll be his...his...What do children have again? Ah, yes. Father. I'll be his father! My wife would love having a child, she still mourns the fact that she is unable to have one." And then he muttered under his breath. "I'll do a better job than my own father, that's for sure."

"Yes, my Prince."

The advisor sighed, realising the battle was lost. At least the child would be clothed and fed, he comforted himself with. It would be a better life than someone that poor could hope to get if they had to toil away their entire life, no matter how rotten they'd become on the inside as a result.

"Hello, child." Sigvald smiled charmingly to Harry. "I am to be your new father. Where are your parents? I need to tell them the wonderful news!"

* * *

Harry was out tending to his aunt's garden like he did every day in summer when someone new came strolling through the neighbourhood.

He almost gaped at the sight; The best-looking, handsome man he had ever seen, his long silken blond hair streamed down his back, and his clothes looked extremely expensive, even to someone who knew nothing about it. The man looked no older than 16 for that matter. Neither feminine nor overly masculine, though he clearly saw it was a boy.

He couldn't help but stare at the vision of beauty, thinking he must surely be a fairy-tale prince. Oh! Maybe he WAS the Prince!

He'd overheard the Queen's speeches on Christmas from his cupboard of course, and some of the other kids talked about fairy-tale, even if he was never allowed to read them himself. He had secretly listened to two girls that talked about a Prince Charming in some movie they had seen.

He always wondered if such amazing and kind people really existed in real life. He once stole a peek at the book Dudley had, and there was a lot of handsome, beautiful Princes and Princesses in them. And their parents were always Kings and Queens so it would make sense that if the Queen had a child like him, he'd be a prince. Harry felt blessed by merely looking at him as if his beauty soothed his heart in a strange way he'd never felt.

Then he got the biggest surprise in his life: The beautiful fairy-tale prince told him he was to be his father! It was just like in a fairy-tale!

Harry remembered some of them if vaguely. He'd always, ALWAYS hoped and wished that somehow his real parents weren't – indeed – drunkards who died in a car accident, but someone tremendous and beautiful and that they'd come and save him from the Dursley's someday.

He had been slowly losing hope after several years of desperate hoping and wishing, but now it had finally happened! Harry stared at the man in shock.

"You mean my aunt and uncle? Are you my REAL daddy? I KNEW they were lying! They told me my mommy and daddy were dead, but I didn't want to believe them!"

Tears of joy welled up in his eyes, and he ran to hug Sigvald.

Sigvald made a face at being touched by such a dirty child and felt a deep need to wash, but it wouldn't help his plan any. He decided that if this child wanted to believe he was his Father so much, then he'd let him.

"Ehrm, yes, naturally," Sigvald said, before patting his head in a condescendingly comforting manner. "There, there."

He was wholly uncomfortable with the situation, and had no idea how to comfort someone.

"Oddrún!" He pried the child away from him. "Get some toys and candy for the child!" He commanded. He would have to show the child the more pleasurable things in life at a later point. First, he had to tell his caretakers, and then he needed to get him cleaned up.

"On second thought, take the child and get him cleaned up and fitted with new clothes. Then take him to the marked – or whatever they have here – and buy him whatever he wants!" Sigvald said, pushing the child over to the slightly scary, hunchbacked man draped in a dark cloak.

"Yes, my Prince." The chancellor said with a bow. "Come here, child. We mustn't let the Geld Prince wait."

Oddrùn gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry was a bit hesitant to go with this strange and scary man, but it seemed his daddy trusted him. So he kept a suspicious eye at him but followed him nonetheless.

"Is he...is he really a Prince?" Harry asked with big eyes, looking back at the divinely handsome man, then he felt silly for asking.

Of course, he was a prince. What else could he be? Unless he was a god of some kind! Harry almost gasped at the thought. Could he be?!

"He is the Geld Prince Sigvald. The favoured Champion of Slaanesh."

Oddrun spoke in short, clipped sentences, but with finality to his words that left no room for doubt. Then he looked at the child, feeling a bit unsure how to follow his Prince's orders.

He was entirely unfamiliar with the modern age, he hadn't left the Prince's side in ages, and Sigvald had only recently chosen to move to this strange, new world, having been bored with his old world.

Thus, when he found references to other worlds, naturally he had desired to see them for himself.

But while Sigvald loved to explore new things, Oddrún lived only to serve his Prince.

Harry, however, gasped in shock. A champion! That was a hero, wasn't it?! His real father was every bit as amazing as he had ever imagined and then some! He didn't know who this...Slaa-something was, but he must be some incredibly impressive leader, or maybe even a god! His childish imagination ran wild with the possibilities.

"Where is the public bathhouse?" Oddrun inquired, intended on following Sigvalds orders to get the child cleaned up.

Harry just looked at him in confusion.

"Bathhouse...?"

Harry wondered if he meant the swimming pool, but he didn't know where it was. His aunt and uncle never took him anywhere if they could avoid it.

But his father had told his servant that he wanted him to be cleaned up, and Harry looked down at himself, blushing with shame. He hadn't been allowed to shower for so long, his hair was itching, and he was dirty from working in the garden all day.

"I...I don't know." Harry muttered embarrassed, and Oddrún withheld a sigh. This was not going to be easy...

Oddrun took Harry with him into the nearest establishment that he could find that promised 'Beauty and Relaxation' and had a pretty nice picture of a steaming hot bathtub. He surmised this might be as good as any place to begin.

* * *

By the time Harry had been bathed, by a strange woman that Oddrún had somehow called over to help 'the young heir' to bathe in his rose-scented room, Sigvald had finally arrived. He brought with him some papers that apparently legally transferred all the custody of Harry to him.

"Ah, Oddrun. Child..." He peered at the papers and scrunched up his nose. "Harry... Such an unfitting name for my heir."

He stared at the child with his own hauntingly beautiful sapphire eyes.

"I will name you Harold. Yes! Harold is a royal name, worn by many kings. Much more fitting, wouldn't you agree?"

He smiled down at the boy and Harry...Harold...couldn't help but nod.

Was his name Harry? He had never heard his uncle and aunt refer to him as anything but 'freak' or 'boy'. He liked Harold. It sounded very similar to Sigvald, which was his father's name. He smiled.

"I see you decided to take him to a Spa. What a wonderful idea!" Sigvald tapped the reception desk twice to get the attention of the person working there. "Full treatments for both my son and me! The whole pack! Especially whatever you have of beauty-treatments," he commanded, and the small town Spa owner looked like she had suddenly gotten a treasure chest dropped in her lap.

"That...would be quite expensive..." she felt obligated to inform him, but Sigvant just laughed.

"Money is of no concern," he told her and smiled charmingly, making her blush and feel like a schoolgirl with a new crush.

She decided to get her very best employees to work with them. Even if she had to call one back from a holiday, and the other from a previously booked session. This was apparently someone she couldn't afford to lose! Especially if they might come back!

"In the meanwhile, Oddrún, buy the child some more appropriate clothes. I will take him to my tailor as soon as we're done here. Arrange it!" Sigvald commanded, before urging Harold to follow the lovely lady to be pampered.

The newly named Harold followed tentatively after the woman, but he figured that whatever they did in a place like this... it sounded nice.

The bath has been fantastic, and his hair felt smooth and silky and didn't itch at all anymore. He decided that he loved his daddy, who was so incredibly nice to him.

That was when he suddenly got the most horrible feeling that it was all a dream, or that somehow it would all disappear at midnight, like in the fairy-tale, and he'd be back in the cupboard again. This thought brought tears to his eyes.

"What's wrong kid?" The masseuse he was with asked him as she led him to the room they were to use.

"It's just... My dad is so nice! What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm just dreaming, and tomorrow I'll wake up in the cupboard, and my uncle will yell at me for burning the food again?" Harold sobbed as the woman patted his back.

"Don't worry, kid. I don't know why your dad wasn't there, but he's making up for it now, right? Is he in the army?"

She thought that maybe he had been stationed abroad and couldn't get back and the kid's mother died or something. Though the way the child flinched, as well as the bruises she could see on his arms, made alarm bells go off in her head, and she was even more happy that the kid's father had come for him.

"Who's your uncle and aunt?" She asked carefully. She would damned well report them to the cops for child-abuse. Maybe they were druggies or something? She sneered at the thought.

"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Um... Dursley," Harold shyly answered, the fear of them evident in his voice, which she considered further proof.

Those snotty people in number 4 Private Drive? She disliked them. They always acted as if they were so much better than everyone else, and Petunia always haggled at the price whenever she came by. Oh, how her friends would LOVE to hear about this!

"Don't worry about it, kid. Just take off your shirt and lay down on the bench here." She tapped the massage bench. "I'll put on some nice, relaxing music, and you'll feel so much better afterwards, I promised."

She smiled down at the kid. It was the least she could do for him.

"Okay." Harold smiled weakly up her and went to do as she said, even if he was still a bit worried. But she seemed like a nice person...

* * *

The newly named Harold smiled as he tried to keep up with his father. He had never felt this good in his entire life! He couldn't remember the last time he had been this clean either. On top of that, he had clothes that actually fit him now!

Harold was over the moon with joy, and even if he suddenly felt a pang of hunger as they passed by a restaurant, he really didn't want to impose on the kindness of his father, after he'd give him so many lovely things.

However, as his stomach rumbled, Sigvald stopped in his tracks to look at him, and Harold suddenly felt like shrinking away in shame, convinced he had done something horribly wrong, even if he couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry," Harold chocked out in a low voice, bracing himself for the punishment. A punishment...that never came.

"What was that sound you made?" Sigvald said, looking confused.

He had heard the strangest sound coming from the kid, but he couldn't for the life of him place it.

"My Prince... I think he's hungry," Oddrún explained. "That was his stomach rumbling."

He held back a sigh at the fact that he had to clarify it. He supposed the Geld Prince would no longer remember such things. It stood to reason that living a life of excess made him unfamiliar with signs of hunger.

"Well, why didn't you say anything? Honestly!" Sigvald shook his head in bafflement and pulled out his phone to find a place to eat. "I wonder if there is any place in this town that has a proper feast. You must be starving!"

Sigvald sounded appealed at the very notion of such a thing were even possible. Especially for his new son and heir!

Harold looked at him with wide eyes.

Was he supposed to tell him that he was hungry? He was going to give him food? Him, the freak, the worthless waste of space that was named Harry...he suddenly felt a deep disdain for that name.

Harry was the friendless freak. Harry was the kid that was bullied in school, and that was worth nothing. He refused to be Harry anymore!

His father had named him Harold.

Harold was someone who got scented baths. Who got nice body treatments and good food! Harold got everything he wanted, his father said so!

With determination in his eyes, he decided to test his theory, and he looked around him and saw a stuffed teddy-bear sitting on a shelf in the bookstore next to them.

"Father, I want that bear!"

Harold tried to keep a brave, stubborn face when his father turned to look at him, expecting any moment to be smacked for his insolence. Instead, his father smiled at him, and suddenly Harry – Harold! – felt better.

"You heard him, Oddrún. He wants the bear," Sigvald demanded with finality.

Oddrún hid an amused smile in the folds of his hooded robe at the stubbornly testing voice, and the small quiver of fear in the child's voice.

He was beginning to be happy they had taken the child in. It was looking more and more like the child had been abused, rather than being poor. Oddrún felt terrible for the kid.

Sigvald might have forgotten how to feel empathy, but Oddrún never did. The awed, bright smile that lit up the child's face with joy also helped. Oddrún felt his heart melt a little more for this child. He wondered if that beautiful innocence would be able to help his prince regain some of his humanity, or if the rot that infested the soul of his childhood friend would spread, and corrupt the boy as well.

Harold didn't understand all of this, however. All he knew was that he had demanded – not even asked, demanded! – something, and got it!

It was just like Dudley demanding a toy, and his mom and dad always, ALWAYS gave in.

Maybe it's a parent thing? Harold hugged his bear and then hugged his dad.

Was this what having a dad meant? Did all parents do this? Maybe the reason for why he never got anything was that he didn't have a dad.

But now he did! And his dad gave him whatever he pointed at, too! He had always been envious of Dudley and wondered what it must be like to get everything. And now he knew how it felt. It was amazing! And, Harold realised, he wanted MORE!


	2. Chapter 2

When Arabella Figg watched a handsome young man walk up and talk to Harry Potter, before stepping up to the Dursley's, she thought nothing of it. Other than a quick wish that she was young and beautiful again so she could snatch him up, of course.

But the Dursley's were very social folks, and while the man looked nothing like anyone she knew, it didn't mean he wasn't some hotshot from the company Petunia's husband worked in or something. Or a cosmetics sales rep. At any rate, she was at that point far more worried about whistling of her tea can, than of watching what happened next, and thus she completely missed how Harry walked away with the robed and hooded stranger, whom...while strange...looked nothing like a wizard and more like a muggle pretending to be in Star Wars or something.

By the time she got back from making her tea, there was no sight of the robed stranger or the boy, but she assumed that Harry had been called in to prepare food for their visitor. She knew the Dursley's made him cook, even if she didn't like it. It wasn't right. But Dumbledore had convinced her that it was for the best, that it was the only place he would be appropriately protected, and they really were his only family.

Besides... What could she do? The Dursley's were, on the outside, an upstanding family, and she was just an old lady. And to the wizarding world, she was of no value as a squib. Who would listen to her anyway? She sighed and sipped at her tea. She just hoped they weren't too mean to the boy.

* * *

Harold sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair and stared at the massive amount of cutlery in front of him. He felt on the verge of tears as he tried to pick the right one to eat with, worried about being yelled at if he chose the wrong one. And the scent of the food drove him crazy as he tried hard to decide.

"What's wrong, son? You don't like this dish? We'll get you a different one!" Sigvald said, placing his fork down and patting his lips with the napkin, before placing it back over his shoulder.*

"No, no!" Harold said quickly before his father could summon those scary waiters again.* "I just...don't know which fork to use..." Harold blushed as his voice trailed off. He didn't feel any better when his father laughed heartily at him.

"If you're that worried, I'll hire you the best tutor in England! But for now, just use whichever fork you want. The basic rule is to start from the outside and go towards the plate with each dish, and the ones above the plate are for dessert."

Sigvald smiled at his new child and heir. If he had known how fun raising a kid would be, he would have acquired one ages ago.

"Thanks, father."

Harold smiled. He wasn't sure if he should call his father dad or not, but Sigvald was a prince, so he figured he should use father. It sounded fancy and posh by comparison. He straightened up in his seat and decided that he would just copy his father. His father always did everything right! He was sure of it!

So when his father took a sip of his wine, Harold took a sip of his coke, trying to put on the same casually arrogant behaviour and facial expression as his father. Which made his father laugh and pat his head. Harold felt that warm glow in his chest mingles with the embarrassing flush in his cheeks, and he decided that it was a good feeling. He was warm and happy and had more food than he could possibly want, even if the portion on his plate was tiny. The waiters kept replacing them with yet another new, interesting, strange or tasty dish, and Harold wondered if it would ever end. It were so many new things he experienced!

Sigvald grinned at the obvious joy – and sometimes disgust – that fluttered across his son's face whenever he sceptically tasted the latest dish that was put in front of them. In a way, it was almost like re-discovering all the pleasurable, interesting and exciting sensations himself, all over again. He might not be able to feel those things himself anymore, but he took great pleasure in the joy that so many parents fall prey to; Living vivaciously through their children. He could hardly wait to show his son the more extreme pleasures of the world! His head was already spinning with half-laid plans as to what he should teach him first...

Sigvald smiled as he watched his son's reactions and enjoyment, and he kept ordering new dishes until Harold couldn't do anything but stare at the food with a pained look on his face. He didn't want to be rude, but if he ate a single bit more, he was sure he would explode! He pushed the plate away with an apologetic look and thanked his father for the yummy food, hoping he didn't seem too ungrateful.

Sigvald had the waiters take away the food, and serve them another round of drinks... Coke for Harold and wine for himself and Oddrún. Then he pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it out towards Harold, not letting it go quite yet, however. He opened it to reveal a gold ring with what looked like some kind of a weapon-shield inscribed in a red coloured gemstone.

"Harold... Son. This ring has our family's crest on it. It is a ring that is passed down from father to son, marking you as my official heir." Sigvald smiled at him, appearing perfectly honest in his every gesture. "I want you to have this ring, as a symbol of this glorious day, when you become my son. Take good care of it. Treasure it."

Harold reached out for the ring with awe and reverence. His eyes filled with tears as he realised that his father was welcoming him into his family in an official, royal kind of way. He didn't fully understand it, but he had never felt so accepted before in his life. His father wanted him. He loved him. He made him his official heir... Which Harold supposed was grown-up talk for son or something. But still... It was really an overwhelming feeling of belonging. Something he had longed for his entire life. And now he finally, finally had it! A place he belonged...

"Thank you, father! I'll treasure it! I promise!" Harold said and tried to place it on his hand, only to realise it was entirely too big for him. Sigvald chuckled, and picked up a semi-thick golden chain from the box, before taking the ring and sliding it onto it.

"Better wear it around your neck until you get older," Sigvald said, getting up to fasten it around his new son's neck. He had his own reasons for giving this to his son, but it would work all the much better if he didn't tell him. He'd figure it out himself soon enough.

"There may come a day that you will need it, son. Make sure you keep it safe." Sigvald went back to sit down and raised his hand to call for a waiter. In the meanwhile, Harold lifted the ring up to his face to admire it. He loved it already. He wondered what his father meant with him needing it one day, but it was far more important to him what it represented; His father's love and acceptance.

* * *

By the time they headed home...or to the hotel they were staying at while in London, Oddrún was overloaded with bags and packages from the myriads of stores they had visited. It was a good thing that he was both tall and extremely strong, even if he usually hunched over and didn't use the full reach of his arms, or show his strength.

Once Harold had firmly understood that he could have anything he wanted, he decided to test his limits, as all children are apt to do. As it turned out; Several malls, hundreds of toys, a fantastic trip through Harrods, and a few boring high-end clothing stores later, and Harold contemplated the option that maybe there didn't exist any limits. He decided to test this theory.

"Father, I want a dragon!" Harold proclaimed, expecting to be shut down and laughed at. Instead, Sigvald merely smiled at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I'll send someone to get one for you as soon as we reach the palace." Sigvald grinned. He was reasonably sure that Harold didn't even know dragons were real, and the look of shock and amazement on his face was well worth the time and effort it would take to capture one.

"Dragons are REAL?!" Harold almost squealed. "Oh, thank you, daddy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Harold threw himself at his father in a hug, any attempts of composing himself as a grownup went straight out the window in his excitement.

It wasn't just that his father would get him absolutely anything...it was that his father told him that something more, something amazing and beautiful and magical really existed.

"Father..." Harold hesitated, still remembering the Dursley's reaction to the subject, but he pulled together all the courage his little body could hold and asked anyway. "Is magic real too?"

He braced himself for the answer. For the let-down. For the verbal abuse. Or the laughter. What he did not prepare for was his father's simple, honest sounding answer.

"Of course it does."

Sigvald looked at his son in confusion. Was that not common knowledge in this world? He decided to speak to Enka about this later. He had sent him off to learn about the type of magic they used here, so he could counter it, or learn it for himself. New skills were always valuable, and Enka was his best sorcerer after all. But he hadn't expected that the ordinary people didn't even believe it existed.

* * *

Harold leaned his head back as he stared up at the tall, luxurious building. 'Rubens Hotel'* was written in large golden letters above the entrance. He followed tentatively after his father. Despite his new, fancy clothes, he felt like he didn't belong here. He grabbed his father's hand and clung to it, looking around the splendour of the century-old luxury hotel, halfway expecting to be kicked out.

What he didn't expect was to see the staff bowing to them...or rather, to his father. He knew his father was a Prince, but what exactly that meant had not yet sunk in. He hid behind his father as he approached the reception desk, and how the staff rushed to get the manager. It was evident that everyone knew he was someone special.

"Ah, Hello again, Gerald."* Sigvald smiled generously at the manager.

"Your royal highness. So good to see you again. What may I help you with today?" The manager asked, looking flattered that Sigvald had remembered his name.

"I've just picked up my son." Sigvald pulled Harold out from behind him, much to the horror of Harold. "I think he should get his own key, just in case," Sigvald said with a grin.

"Of course, my lord. Boys will be boys, and prone to explore. Just one moment."

The manager snapped his fingers at one of the receptionists, and she immediately ran off to fetch the duplicate keys. Sigvald's family had been coming to their hotel almost since it was created, and they always rented the same rooms...the entire top floor, in fact. So the hotel had made sure to have enough keys for the Prince and his staff. Although this was the first time, or so rumour had it, that a child had been brought with the royal family.

The manager wasn't entirely sure where exactly the royal family was from, all they ever said was 'up north', which made him think they might be from Norway...or did Iceland have royalty? He wasn't quite sure. Never the less, he felt blessed at the honour bestowed upon him to have the Prince's heir presented to him.

He noticed the poor child looked absolutely terrified. He was a bit young. Maybe this was the very first time he had left his country. He hoped the child could speak English and decided it was his duty to put the child at ease and ensure them both that the service of the hotel was first class, for the children as well as the adults.

"Hello, your highness," Gerald spoke softly to the child. "Welcome to the Rubens. If there is anything at all you want, just ask any of the staff, and they'll get it for you, okay?"

Gerald smiled at Harold, bowing down a bit to get down to the child's level. He seemed to be a bit shy, but he supposed a prince would be very isolated until he got older... The Royals could never be too careful with their children and all that. And then there were the media... He already felt a bit sorry for the child, even if he was born into a very privileged class, it came with many responsibilities that other children didn't have.

"Hello..." Harold said, still clinging to his father's hand, looking awestruck upon the stranger.

He was not used to people being this nice to him. Aunt Petunia was always telling the neighbours horrible things about him, things that weren't even true, and as a result, the neighbours always looked at him with suspicion, and most certainly wouldn't have offered to give him anything!

"My name is Gerald. If you have any problems...anything at all, just ask one of the staff to come get me." Gerald smiled gently at the young Prince, and Harold had to work hard to hold back tears at how kind this stranger was to him.

"Okay! I promise! Thank you!" Harold rushed to hug him, and Gerald looked at Sigvald in shock. Sigvald only chuckled.

"I'm afraid he's still very affectionate. His mother had an unfortunate accident and passed away, and he was sent off to some relatives that didn't treat him very well while I was away for my military education. I only just managed to find him. I do hope people will cut him some slack as far as social rules go until I can get him a good tutor," Sigvald said and ruffled his son's hair affectionately.

"Of course your royal highness." Gerald made a small bow in acknowledgement. "If I may make a suggestion..." He waited until Sigvald nodded his head to continue. "We have a few people on staff that would be able to train the young Prince in basic etiquette. It's...not a part of their regular work, but I think they would be most sympathetic to his past, and more than delighted to meet someone of your standing and stature, your royal highness." Gerald said, hoping he wasn't too forward with the Prince. But he truly wanted to help.

"Wonderful idea!" Sigvald grinned widely. "See that it is done!"

He dismissed the man to his duties and pulled his son with him towards the elevators. He did have the entire top floor, and while he had only brought the more human looking servants with him... Oddrún aside... there was still so many people and quite a few rooms for his new son to explore and get to know.

* * *

"Harold rubbed his eyes and smiled to himself as he sighed happily and curled his hand around the silky blanket and felt the soft bed curve under him, making him feel like he was sleeping on a cloud, with another cloud for his duvet.

He had been worried that he would wake up, and it would have all been a dream, and he was back in that horrid closet with his uncle yelling at him... He shuddered. He had woken up from nightmares about being back in his closet a few times during the night, but the soft laughter and music, and the smell of exotic incense that drifted into his room from the myriads of other rooms soothed his fears right away.

He spread his hands wide. Even in the darkness he could feel that he wasn't in his closet, and the soft bed assuaged the rest of his fears, and he had drifted back into sleep with a smile on his face.

He didn't want to ever get up tho. This bed was comfy. Way comfy. And he had his bear! He hugged his teddy closer. He loved the bear. To him, it represented a form of freedom and love that he never had before experienced but always dreamed of having. It was the proof that his dad really would give him what he asked and his first taste of power and control. He loved it!

A soft knock on the door startled him out of his thought, and he stared at the door, unsure what to do. He wasn't used to even having a door, much less having people respect his privacy. He tried to remember how ordinary people reacted to knocks on the door.

"Yes?" He tried to say, tentatively.

Unsure if he should have gotten up and opened it or not. A young woman in an exotic looking, skimpy dress with a split in the sides that went all the way up to show her thighs came in, carrying a tray of food.

"Young Master, the Prince said you should have some food and wake up. He is talking about returning home soon, and there is still some shopping left for you to do before you leave."

She placed the tray in front of him on the bed and helped him sit up, fluffing the pillows behind his back with a practised hand. Harold blushed at the attention, not quite sure what to say.

"Um, thank you," he decided on saying.

It seemed safe enough to say, and he really was grateful...and a bit surprised. He was used to having to cook the food, and only ever getting leftovers and scraps...or nothing at all. To be served on the bed like a fairytale prince or something... Then he suddenly grinned. But he was a prince now! He remembered the conversation he had with his father before he went to bed, and he remembered his father trying to teach him about all his new privileges. He decided to try it out.

"You may leave, servant." He said with his best impression of arrogance. It wasn't perfect, but it looked absolutely adorable, and the girl couldn't help but hide a small smile.

"Of course, your highness. I will come back in half an hour to help you with your bath." She bowed and left him to eat his breakfast.

Harold grinned in pure joy. It worked! It actually worked! She obeyed him! Just like that! He marvelled at how easy it had been. He just told her to do something, and she did it! His stomach chose that time to rumble and cut short his train of thought, and remind him that he was actually pretty hungry, something he had forgotten about in his elation and what may well be one of his very first power trips.

When he was done eating, the servant girl came back, and he was forced to suffer through the embarrassing experience of being bathed and dressed by a girl! He was blushing hard through the entire experience.

* * *

"Harold! Come here and have some food, son." Sigvald grinned at the thought of having a son. It was a new experience for him, and he was growing more and more fond of it with every amusing thing his new son did.

"Thank you...father." Harold tried hard to remember how the posh people on the telly acted and spoke. He didn't want to disappoint his dad...father he corrected himself... who was a Prince, of all things!

"Here, try some wine! The food is nothing special today, but I ordered a bit of everything for you to try." He poured his son a glass of wine and waited to see his reaction. He laughed as Harold wrinkled his nose.

"Yuck!" Harold proclaimed. The red wine was bitter and just...not good! He quickly looked at his father, a mortified expression on his face. He was getting all the food and...drink...things...he could ever want, and he suddenly felt very ungrateful for rejecting it. "I'm sorry..." He said, bowing his head.

"Whatever for?" Sigvald said, confused.

"I'm sorry I don't like the wine. I'm really grateful! I promise!" He said and grabbed the glass to take another sip, trying to not scrunch his face up in disgust. Sigvald sighed and pulled the glass away from him.

"Harold... Don't be sorry for not liking something. You've every right to like or dislike whatever you want." Sigvald reached for the honey. "Some pleasures are acquired. The trick..." Sigvald mixed a spoonful of honey in a small bit of water, before mixing that into the wine. "...is to make the transition a pleasant experience." He pushed the glass with the new mix towards Harold. "Try it now." He said and smiled. Harold took a new sip of the wine, now mixed with honey.

"It tastes like weird berry juice!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows raising in surprise. It was sweet, and the bad taste, like ashes, was gone. This was something he could learn to like! It was weird...but...not bad. He took another sip before studying the table, trying to decide what to try first.

If this was 'nothing much' then he wondered what his father considered to be something special...

The whole table was lined with enough food to feed a small village, and all of it looked really expensive. The serving plates looked like they were gold, as did the cutlery, while his plate was black with a gold leaf pattern on it. It made Harold very, very scared of breaking something. Everything looked so expensive.

He reached for the bread. Bread was safe. And subconsciously he still didn't feel he was worthy of anything nicer. He moaned as he bit into it. The bread was clearly newly made, and still warm. The butter practically melted on it...and it was weird butter. It had little green things in it and didn't taste anything like regular butter, but it was so yummy!

Sigvald watched him with a chuckle. He couldn't remember when he enjoyed this kind of meal himself, but he felt almost as if he was enjoying it for the first time all over again, through watching his...son...enjoy it. There was just something so fascinating about the innocence of this child, and his entirely sincere actions. And he almost itched to show him every pleasure life had to offer. Oh! He was so excited! Where should he begin!?

"Here. Try one of these. This is oxtail soup." Sigvald placed a brown piece of meat on Harold's plate, and he cut a bit off it, staring at it sceptically. A tail? Of an ox? He'd only ever seen one in a cartoon, it was smelling a flower and seemed like a nice ox...before his uncle made him go to his cupboard. It seemed a bit wrong to eat his tail tho... Poor ox... But he didn't want to disappoint his father, so he closed his eyes and chewed.

"Wow...! Yummy!" Harold said and quickly cut another piece. Maybe it was wrong, but the ox had already lost its tail. Would it really be so bad if he ate it? It was soooo yummy! He vaguely wondered what a tailless ox looked like, and if it hurt when his tail was chopped off. Maybe it was like surgery? He knew people were given something that made it not hurt. Perhaps they did that with oxen too? He decided that, regardless of how the ox lost its tail, it still tasted incredibly yummy, and it couldn't be all that wrong if his perfect, amazing dad, who also was a Prince, and therefore wise and just, approved of it.

Content with that logic, Harold decided to enjoy as many of the different dishes as he could stomach, letting go of any guilt and discomforting thoughts about how the various animals met their demise.

* * *

The breakfast...if one could call it that...dragged on for more than an hour before his father finally decided it was done, and called for the servants to clean it up.

"Come on, son. It's time you meet some of the more...human...of our subjects." Sigvald smiled as he placed a hand on his son's back and guided him towards the other rooms. The strange, sweet smell permeated the air, and the sound of ethereal, exotic music grew stronger with every step.

As they came close to the door, the sound of joyful laughter danced through the air. And when he opened the door, a sickly sweet smell slithered its way to his nostrils and intermingled with other, heavy, spicy scents. A haze of smoke seemed to blanket the room, making him feel lightheaded, as he watched strange people in the most creative costumes dance ecstatically around, swivelling in and out of the various connected rooms.

The costumes reminded him vaguely of some of the paintings he had seen when his aunt had dragged the whole family to an art museum so they could look cultured. The voluptuous dresses were opulent, and the gilded masks covered in gems and sometimes feathers. They covered the entire face of some of them, while others merely had decorative masks, or non at all. For a moment, Harold thought he saw a glimmer of scales when one woman's gloves slid down as she reached over for the grapes. But he decided it must have been an illusion in the dim, red-ish lighting that permeated the room and created a strangely magical atmosphere, encasing the rooms, and making him feel as if he left reality behind.

Sigvald walked up to the raised platform, on which a throne-like chair of gold and purple were standing, pushing Harold with him up. As he stood up and waited to be noticed, everyone in the room quickly became quiet and turned to look at him. So strong was the presence of Prince Sigvald, and so beloved by his people was he, that he was always in the mind of his people, and when he stood up to make a speech, they all turned to him in silent anticipation.

"My dear friends. I have the most glorious news to share with you on this most prosperous of days!" Sigvald cried and flung his arms open as if to embrace each one of the strange looking assembly surrounding them, the excitement in his voice making everyone murmur in delighted anticipation.

"Behold!"

He pulled Harold out from behind him and pushed him in front of him, much to the horror of said child.

"My son and heir!"

He shone with delight as the crowd whispered excitedly and clapped their hands together, clearly rejoicing in the fact.

"I know some of you have wished for this moment. Wished and hoped and waited," Sigvald said, clasping his fist over his heart with a pained expression. "Oh, how we all wished for my wife to bear me an heir... But alas... It was not to happen, and a Kingdom needs an heir!" Sigvald declaimed with a proud tilt of his head. "A Prince to be the successor of the Throne! Someone to carry on the proud traditions the Kingdom, should anything happened to me," Sigvald chocked painful at the thought.

The crowd was quick to declare that nothing could possibly ever harm him! He was a god! He was immortal! Perish at the thought!

Sigvald took a deep breath and composed himself again.

"Fear not, my dear friends!" Sigvald exclaimed. "I have no intentions of leaving you. But now the future of the Gilded Palace and it's wonders is secured...for all eternity!" He threw his arms into the air, before placing them on his son's shoulders. "Now rejoice, and welcome your new Prince, as I ascend to an even higher throne. I present to you Prince Harold of the Gilded Palace!" He shouted the last words with his hands spread wide, and the crowd cheered out in elation, before rushing forwards to kneel at their feet.

Harold stared at them in shock, too scared to move, as they grasped for his hand and kissed the ring he got from his dad, proclaiming their loyalty to him and his father. Others kissed his feet, and some women even rubbed against him like pets.

"Father..." Harold whispered, his voice quivering slightly.

Sigvald merely placed his hands on his son's shoulders and whispered in his ear.

"Fear not, my son. Our loyal subjects are merely showing the proper deference that befits a Prince of your standing. Accept their worship with the grace befitting of our royal family." Sigvald told him, a proud smile on his lips.

Harold looked down on the heads bowed in reverence, and the chaotic scrambling as they all fought for his attention, fought to show him their adoration and respect.

A strange new sensation rose up in Harold's chest, and he felt the warm glow of power. He felt safe and loved in ways he could not even imagine before. He closed his eyes and let the desirous feeling of Power flow through him, and he stood up straight and lifted his chin with pride. Joyful laughter welled up in his chest and slipped past his lips in gleeful giggles. Building up to delightful maniacal laughter, as he begins to pat the heads of the pets, of his new people, whom grovelled before his feel, in a profoundly satisfying display of feeling, for the very first time in his life, as if he was a SOMEONE!

* * *

*Sigvald uses rules of etiquette that dates back to the Tudor era at times because he still hasn't quite learned all the modern world's etiquette. lol

*Trust me: The first time you go to a fancy restaurant, the solemn and professional atmosphere and the waiters are bloody scary.

*I made up the name of the manager tho. No clue what his real name is. lol


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was a rush of people and packing.

Well, to call them people was perhaps a bit generous, although they hid it well in their travelling clothes. Harold had yet to catch a glimpse of something stranger than gleaming of scales, or strangely coloured hair, although he did wonder what had happened to so many of them that had one hand bandaged up with what looked like several thick layers of bandage. Although after glimpsing a hastily covered up hand, sensually shimmering with purple scales, he began to wonder if it really was just bandaging under the top layer of them.

The packing was mainly done by the servants, while Harold was enjoying a selection of the hotels best food for breakfast before his father took him out to a movie, something he said they wouldn't get the chance to do later.

Harold wondered where they were going to move. He knew it was out of the country somewhere.

His father had made sure they enjoyed typical British cuisine, just because it would be tough to come by once they left for home...wherever 'home' was.

Harold was starting to feel a bit anxious about it all. He had lived in Surrey almost his entire life and had never been any further away from it than London, which was overwhelming enough for a young boy. However, he trusted his Father implicitly. These last days had been the most beautiful days in his life, and it was all thanks to his Father.

Harold smiled as he watched the youthful Prince sipping a coke and seeming like he was about to have a small orgasm. He carefully hid a smile by taking a sip of his own coke. His Father was the best father ever! He was so nice to him, so wise and knowledgeable about all things. When he was talking to you, you always believed like you were the only person in the room. Harold felt he CARED about him. It brought tears to his eyes when he joyfully thought about it. It was like a fairytale come true. He hoped it would stay like this forever and ever!

After the movie, and some more shopping, they both went back to the hotel to enjoy the most deliciously divine High Tea menus that the hotel offered. This was enough to make Harold make the same face as his father, as he enjoyed the sinful treats to it's fullest. Oh, how the flavours of the tea complemented the scones and other assorted sweets. And the scones themselves! Freshly baked, delectable flavours of jam and clotted cream intermingling in an orgasmic explosion of taste!

Harold remembered to thank Slaanesh for the wondrous pleasure the meal brought afterwards. Just like his Father had taught him to. And the way his Father beamed with pride at him every time he did only make him more determined to learn about his new god, the one that his Father said was every bit as real as you and me. One that you could see and feel the results of and some people had even met!

Harold had felt very unsure about this all, but he decided to treat it as if he had somehow stumbled into a strange, magical fairytale. He wouldn't be surprised if talking animals suddenly jumped out and sang a song at this point, it was just all so...unreal.

But he wished and prayed and hoped that it was genuine and that it would never ever, ever end.

* * *

If Harold had thought London was the worst chaotic mess of people and sounds he had ever seen, he took his statement back the moment he stepped out of the limousine that brought them to the airport. This was worse. Much worse.

He was also a bit surprised that his father didn't have some kind of private jet or whatever, like those rich people in his aunt petunia's favourite gossip shows had.

But his father had explained to him that where he lived, no plains could fly. And they were only going to Iceland by plane, but after that, it would be a few days more with horses...of all things!

Harold suddenly realised why his father had insisted on those riding lessons for him, even if it was only a few hours spread over a single weekend. Harold hoped that he would be able to hold onto the horse and not fall off and embarrass himself. He didn't think he could take the disappointed look his father might shoot at him if he failed something that came so easy and natural to his father.

Heathrow was big, scary, and filled with people running every which way, in a cacophony of sounds and noises. Harold suddenly felt very small and very scared, and he clung to his daddy as if his life depended on it.

He did, however, briefly wonder who the surprisingly small man in their group was. He seemed to command two large creatures that Harold hesitated to call them humans, to move a large box the size of a coffin. But in the noise and stress of the check-in and security check, Harold ended up forgetting all about it. He only spared a brief moment to wonder why he hadn't seen that man until now when he had met everyone else of the Court or the Decadent Host as his father called them.

The nightmare didn't end when they filed into the plane either, even as the noise of the airport vanished behind them. There were still too many people stuck in a too small space. Although Harold noticed with some relief that his father steered them all into the quieter part of the plane, and he was pretty sure every single person there was a part of his father's court.

Even if he didn't know more than a handful of them personally. He had seen them all before, that much he was sure of at least.

But it was only his father's calming voice, and gentle touches that stopped Harold from full out panicking when he felt the plane rises into the air. The weightless feeling of being pushed down into his seat and the sight of the ground disappear beneath them. He refused to think about how high up they were and how bad it would hurt if they fell down. And, and...

Harold stared at his father with tears in his eyes. Sigvald merely smiled reassuringly and stroke his son's hair with a calming gesture. Harold felt like he could melt into his embrace and stay there forever. With his father, he was safe. He'd never let anything happen to him, Harold kept telling himself that.

The whole plane went silent as Sigvald rose his deceptively sweet, seductive voice in a strange and unfamiliar lullaby to calm his son's fears. Harold didn't understand the language, but it was beautiful. It slithered like snakes around the cold, harsh words, and yet it drew him in with a sickly sweet comfort. It was terrifyingly beautiful and disturbingly calming, all at the same time.

It didn't take long before Harold fell asleep, lulled into a deep sleep by the magic of the Black Speech of Chaos, and the hauntingly beautiful hymn to Slaanesh. Sigvald didn't sing often, but he was every bit as skilled in song as he was in every other art-form. The rest of his court soon followed his son and heir into a restful sleep, dreaming of delectably sinful and glorious deeds...

* * *

The arrival in Reykjavik and the subsequent trip to the hotel was a sleepy blur for Harold, as he was carried in Oddrún's arms the entire way there... The hunched over creature of a man was surprisingly strong for being so slender and long-limbed. Sigvald could, of course, not be bothered to carry anything at all.

Not even his own luggage.

Once they finally arrived, it became apparent that Sigvald had thrown around enough money to feed several small nations for years to come so he could hire the entirety of The Retreat for himself and his Court. Staff and all.

Harold could hardly believe his eyes as he entered his own quarters, just to realise there was a large pool of steaming hot water right outside the enormous windows that lead to the balcony of his room. If he ever wanted to take a dip in the naturally heated water, all he needed to do was to open the door.

His father explained to him that it was a part of the Blue Lagoon, that it was apparently a very famous tourist spot... and that Harold did not have to worry about anything, because Sigvald had made absolutely sure nobody else would use it for the time they were staying there. Something about a corrupt minister* combined with enough money to bankrupt England.

Harold had to admit he wondered what exactly his father had meant when he muttered something about needing to go raiding again when they finally got back home. It didn't sound very nice though, especially when he started mussing about the price of slaves these days as he walked away, so Harold stopped listening. He refused to believe his new, wonderful, kind and amazing dad was anything but perfect.

He was more than a little excited to jump in and play in the pool, but he was a bit scared as well, since he'd never been in any kind of lake before, and didn't know how to swim.

It turned out that the water did have a shallow end, and it was marvellous!

* * *

It had been strange to him for the first few days...and it was still a bit weird now... but he was slowly getting used to having someone come in and bath him and dress him when he was done.

Surprisingly, he decided he actually kind of liked it even if Harold was very insistent that he was more than big enough to dress himself. It was slowly getting less embarrassing that the girl assigned to serve him saw him naked at the very least. His father did encourage him to drop his overdeveloped modesty as well.

Which was probably the reason because his father had rented the whole damned Blue Lagoon place, to begin with, and proceeded to throw a never-ending pool party. Sigvald proclaimed that there was no need for clothes when you had steaming hot mineral water, good food, fine wine and good company.

It was hard not to be pulled along with every crazy scheme his father came up with. He was always so passionate and enthusiastic about it.

* * *

Harold felt a bit self-conscious at first, but everyone else behaved as if it was perfectly reasonable to be naked around both genders and a few people he was now even more sure weren't entirely human. Much less he knew the gender of.

It turned out that wine and good company, and several of the younger women that treated both Harold and Sigvald as Roman emperors and fawned over them, even feeding the grapes and honeyed wine, and it had made Harold finally give in and enjoy the hedonistic feeling of the whole party. The wine undoubtedly helped too.

He was entirely too aware that his father went off with a few people to some of the many huge pillows that were spread out on the ground. And judging by the sounds, he did something that Harold absolutely did not want to know what was!

But that aside, Harold was having a perfect time. And he decided that if his father lived in this cold, desolated country...maybe it wouldn't be so bad as it looked to him when they flew over it.

He smiled and took another sip of his honeyed wine and let the two strange looking women hug him and fawn over him, as they fought for his attention.

He really could get used to this.

* * *

For the next few days, it was something between a blur of pleasure and confusion, as Harold was being pulled around by Sigvald's Decadent Host, while they insisted on feeding him the most delicious of food, sing, dance, and otherwise entertain the young Prince.

At the same time, his Father was suddenly very busy with phone calls and meeting a multitude of people, in an attempt to get his hands on more permanent accommodation. Harold was sure he'd heard his yelling about building a castle at some point, while his advisors whimpered in fear, saying something that undoubtedly did not please him.

Harold felt sorry for his father. It sounded like everyone around him was incompetent morons, if the yelling was any indication. Not that he was entirely sure what 'incompetent' meant, but it must be something terrible.

He winced as he heard the sound of glass breaking, and the pained whimpered that followed suggested it had been broken over someone's head.

His father was having a fit again... Poor Father. Surrounded by incompetents.

* * *

It was hard to say how much time had passed when Harold slowly woke up and pushed aside the soft fabric of the high-quality duvets that covered the comfortable king-sized bed.

The one thing he was sure about though, was that his tummy was growling, and he suddenly realised how used to eating whenever he wanted he had become these last few days... His father always seemed to have food around, even if he wasn't hungry. Just because it was tasty.

Prince Sigvald did a lot of things just for the pleasure of doing it, and Harold was slowly beginning to adopt that mindset too, if tentatively. But right now, he was still scared about asking for anything from his father as well... He didn't dare to call for him, even tho he really, really wanted too...

The hotel room was dark, but his clothes were laying next to his bed, neatly folded up. He put them on and relished in the feeling of high-quality garments that actually fit him. The time at the Dursley's wasn't so long ago that he had forgotten what it felt like to wear the oversized, stained and worn out rags that passed for his clothes back there. It made it all the more easy to enjoy every indulgence his father lavished upon him.

It didn't take him long to find the fridge and steal some leftovers that he knew was always in there, and enjoy them with a can of coke. He relished in the meal before sneaking back into bed. But he was entirely too excited to fall asleep after the long flight, and the promise of a grand adventure to come.

He got up and walked outside, following the scented air and the sound of unearthly enchanting music, to find his father and the Host languishing on the pillows by the poolside, enjoying the view of the night sky and eating grapes. The joyful laughter echoed across the grounds.

He wondered if it was the steams from the hot-springs or some kind of strange magical fairytale things that kept the area out here so hot, when it was almost winter season everywhere else.

His Father suddenly pointed at the sky it excitement, and those of the Decadent Host that followed him stared up at the sky in amazement and wonder, watching the greenish flashes of light shimmering across the sky. For a second there gleamed in a bright, unnatural purple colour, slithering its way through the greenish lights. Harold thought it was really, really pretty.

"It is time! The gate is open!" Sigvald declared enthusiastically, as the Host broke out in loud applause and excited whisperings at the news.

* * *

The next day was yet again a rush to pack up and move out, but this time, it was much, much quicker than it had been when they left from London... Harold didn't have to wonder for very long to find out why.

As it turned out, his father did not live in Reykjavik... He didn't live in Iceland! Harold was slowly beginning to doubt that this place was even on earth at all...

His father claimed it wasn't the north pole, but the only thing lacking was penguins and polar bears, he thought with dismay, as he clung to the saddle in front of his father to avoid falling off the horse. He wished he knew how to pull the over-sized fur that he was wrapped up in tighter around him, without also falling off the horse.

The snow was coming down hard. And the harsh wind made it swirl up in their faces, clouding their view and freezing their faces. It was only the intense shades of violent and purple that made the group stand out against the background. Sigvald had allowed his Decadent Host to dress in their own preferred clothes again, and they all had a very peculiar taste in clothing that made Harold understand why they had been made to wear more 'normal' clothes while amongst normal humans.

If it wasn't for his father's court's love of vivid, gaudy colours, Harold was sure he'd lose them all to the strange, ever-changing landscape as the storm set upon them with a renewed fury.

He swore that even the mountains moved and shifted, here, in this strange place. Or maybe it was just the storm tricking the eyes. One minute it was there, the next it was gone. Or in a different area. Harold shuddered, this place gave him the creeps.

* * *

After they had left the capital of Iceland, they had headed into the volcanic wilderness that held such haunting beauty.

What had seemed to him to be the remains of some ancient castle structure had been explained by their guide to be natural stone structures. He called the place Dimmu Borgir - The Black Castles.

The tour-guide had with mock seriousness told him that some people claimed that one of the deepest ravines there was locally known to be a gate to Hell. He didn't believe in it himself, of course, that was obvious, but his father had mapped out the way from the closest camping spot himself before sending the tour guide away, and that deep, dark ravine was precisely where they were going once night fell and security for the area lessened.

Harold was wondering to himself if they might not be wrong about Hell...claiming it was all fire lakes and brimstone... Whatever brimstone was... He was more and more convinced that this was Hell. He bit back a whimper as he felt his poor toes turn blue. He was absolutely confident that when he took off his boots, they'd be blue as...as...blueberries! And fall off! He hugged the arm that his father encircled his waist with, more for comfort than to avoid falling off.

Sigvald noticed his son's discomfort. He could be amazingly perceptive when he wanted too...and there weren't any mirrors around to distract him.

"Just a little bit further, son. We're very close to the valley of a...friend...of mine." Sigvald said, smiling. How strange and fascinating it was to have someone depend on him. He was giddy with glee over this strange new emotion that was growing in his chest. Was it fatherly pride? Was it caring? Sigvald didn't know and didn't care. He embraced the feeling the way he did every other sensation and revelled in the pleasure it brought him.

He did, however, consider the fact that he really needed to toughen up his son a bit. It was unbecoming of a Prince to not being able to handle a bit of snow. He had forgotten about how bad it felt to journey through the snow, and he had forgotten the pleasure he subsequently had gained from the same pain, after first accepting his darling lord Slaanesh into his, now, rotten and spoiled heart.

They climbed down a narrow mountain path, and Sigvald pointed out a patch of green directly below them. It looked like a calm lake, a tranquil haven in the heart of the harsh landscape, with a violet gemstone in its centre.

"Look, son!" He grinned passionately. "We're here!" He yelled out for the whole party to hear.

Harold leaned forward, staring at the strange sight that opened up like a tranquil valley beneath them. He couldn't help by smile a happy, if tired smile as his father lifted him off the horse, after having dismounted it himself.

When he cast a quick glance around, he noticed the whole party was following their example, before they all began their descent down the dangerously narrow path that stretched out in a steep downward slope before them.

Sigvald grinned broadly as he rushed down the mountainside, as fast as the treacherous landscape allowed. He could hardly wait to introduce his son to his patron, and see the look on both their faces!

Oh, how delightful it was! The world was yet again filled with first time experiences and wonders! Sigvald shivered in pleasure and rushed forwards, only pausing to tell Oddrún to pick up his son, as his foothold was unsteady, being both young and tired.

Harold thought he head a horse make a horrible sound of terror as the ground fell out from beneath it, but he was much too tired to care. They kept up the breakneck speed with a surprisingly low amount of casualties, for all that Sigvald seems careless for what happened to the rest of his group.

It had been a very, very long day. They had gotten up incredibly early in the morning when they first set out, and Harold wasn't even sure if they hadn't walked two whole days in a row, for it sure felt like they had.

The last thing Harold remembered before being tucked in under a beautiful, warm blanket in a tent he didn't know they even had, was watching the sun setting over the valley, making the green grass shimmer like the waves of a lake in the mild breeze.

* * *

The sun rose over the green, circular lawn of the valley. As Harold creped out of the tent he was in, he discovered that the violet gem he had seen in the middle of it was a cluster of tall, violet pavilions that were now shining in the sunlight. For all that, the snowstorm seemed to rage on high above them on each side, this was a serene place where there was not a cloud in sight.

A full venerable old hedge surrounded the lawn, bejewelled with rambling roses and sculpted to resemble an undulating serpent. Harold stared at it in wonder, taking in what he had barely noticed last night as he had been carried in through the gate of knotted oak that marked the entrance to the lawn.

Groans of pleasure resounded all around him as the weary troops awoke to the balmy summer evening, after having escaped the bitter winter storm that surrounded them all the way there.

Sigvald had somehow awoken earlier than his son and was already waiting for him, basking in the brilliant sunlight as he was having what looked like a wondrous picnic on the lawn in front of the tent they had slept in.

Harold wondered if his father had been sleeping at all, although there were no signs of weariness on his face, only in a faint glimmer hidden deep within his eyes.

He found himself calmed by the leaves and the faint music that seemed to come from the vaster tent, and he was suddenly incredibly curious and drawn towards it.

"Harold. Son. Come have some food." Sigvald said, calling his son over.

He had already introduced himself to his patron the day before, but the seemingly benevolent Daemon was as gracious as always and understood that the child that had caught Sigvalds attention would need a good nights rest and some cleaning up before it was fit to be in the presence of someone as dignified as himself.

A young girl with lilac hair that bounced around her like waves at sea, and which floated around her to obscure her face and most of her body, came towards them. Her limbs were long and pale, and there was an eerie beauty to her. Even her voice seemed to ebb and flow like the sea as she spoke.

"Young Prince... My Lord requested that you'd be bathed and dressed to meet him as soon as you awoke." She gave a graceful courtesy to both Harold and Sigvald. Harold looked worriedly at his father.

"She's a servant of my Patron, Belus Pül." He smiled and stood up, placing his hands proudly at his son's shoulders. "Remember what I told you?" He asked.

"Be polite. Belus Pül is a Day...Dai...Daiemon?" Harold tried.

"Daemon." Sigvald corrected him.

"Which is like, almost a god, so I need to show respect!" Harold said, happy he remembered it all and basking in the warm glow of Sigvalds approving smile.

"Excellent son." He smiled and casually pulled the necklace Harold wore the heirloom ring on so it fell outside his shirt. "He's a good Patron, and he's close to Slaanesh. If he offers you his gifts... be sure to thank him appropriately. If he wants anything in return, remember that your hearts desires will always be worth it." Sigvald swatted away the slight sting of guilt he felt as he spoke. Slaanesh was a wonderful master, and innocence was overrated anyway. He adamantly refused to think about his own past self as it tried to reassert itself.

He hugged his son, who basked in the warm glow of feeling loved and cared for. Harold promised himself he would do everything in his power to make his daddy proud of him.

He'd be super-nice and polite to the almost-god person he was going to meet, and make them both happy! And his father had told him about all the beautiful and nice things he'd get if he got this person as his own patron too. It had taken Sigvald the better part of an hour to explain to his son what precisely a 'patron' was. He may have made it sound far more magical and wonderful than it really was. Not that Harold knew that of course.

Harold only looked back once or twice to get strength from the proud look on his father's face as he was being led by the hand towards one of the smaller tents to be prepared for the meeting with Belus Pül.

* * *

Harold tugged at the edges of the bright purple tunic he was wearing before fumbling with the gold belt that matched the golden lining of his outfit and wondered briefly what the strange runes interweaved in it was. He decided he liked the warm wool-like fabric and the soft leather boots that came with it, no matter how weird the outfit was to someone used to a more modern style of clothes. It was clearly designed for comfort as well as beauty, which made Harold smile.

He took a deep breath before walking outside to follow the purple-haired woman that was going to show him to her Daemon master. Harold had to admit he was nervous. He also wondered if his family belonging was important or something since the woman smiled when she saw the ring he wore on a chain around his neck and had adjusted it to lay on top of his clothes, rather than hidden underneath.

Harold gave the ring a tight squeeze for courage and thought of his father. He felt the love and adoration for his father rise up in him stronger than ever before, and he loved the ring so much because of what it represented to him. Right now, that gave him the courage he needed to step forward and pushed open the canvas doors on the most massive tent and stepped inside.

He found himself surrounded by music and leaves. The pavilion contained an orchard, and the branches of the trees were crowded with hundreds of songbirds, all trilling and warbling as he stepped beneath the fruit-laden boughs.

He marvelled in awe at the bucolic scene that somehow was contained inside a tent, in a valley surrounded by a fierce blizzard. He let out a joyful laugh as the birds fluttered and trilled before him. Something about this place made him feel happy and elated, in a way that reminded him of his father, although he couldn't quite put his finger on out why that was.

At the centre of this pretty bower was an ornate wooden bench dangling from the branches of a twisted old juniper tree.

Swinging gently back and forth on it was a daemon. His luminous pale skin shone in the gentle light, and two small, black horns sprouting from beneath its white hood.

The plain, white habit it wore, and his hairless head, made a strong impression of a holy monk, rather than a daemon. In its left hand, it carried a single white lily. Its face was such a picture of benign serenity that Harold gasped out before he could catch himself;

"Beautiful..." He quickly clasped his hand before his mouth and, remembering Sigvald's lessons, he bowed so deeply his hair almost swept the ground, lost in the profound awe of the divine vision and the gentle, yet powerful aura that surrounded the placid-faced, androgynous youth. He did not see the pleased, mirthful smile that graces its divine face at the innocent flattery as the Daemon evaluated the child.

As he glanced up, he saw the youth beckon him closer. As it watched his approach, the daemon held the flower up to its face and sniffed, closing its eyes and crushing its small, pretty nose into the petals.

"Harold, son of Sigvald the Magnificent, heir to the Decadent Host." said the daemon, in a soft, melodic voice, turning to another figure that sat a few feet away, "appeared before the exalted Belus Pül for the first time as an innocent, well-mannered child."

At first glance, Harold would have thought the divine youth was talking to a vast, pale spider.

The dim light blazing through the lilac walls made it hard to make out anything clearly, but he could see that the thing had dozens of delicate, segmented appendages that trailed out from a small, plump body. It was only as he curiously stepped nearer that Harold realised it was a naked, hairless man with a nest of twitching arms sprouting from his sides.

Each of his needle-thin limbs ended in a sharpened, inked point, and as the demon spoke, the man wrote on a long roll of parchment. His face was devoid of features, apart from a single hole at its centre, which curled inwards like the auricle of a giant ear.

Harold stared at the creature in horror, but he quickly composed himself and looked back at the beautiful youth before him, deciding it would be horribly rude to say anything about it. And he did not want to disappoint his Father by being offensive to someone this important!

But while Harold was too shocked to speak, the daemon was more than happy to talk, at great lengths, as he promised him a life of eternal power and ecstasy, in exchange for a small token of fealty; The family heirloom that Harold was wearing around his neck.

The more the daemon spoke of the power and the pleasures he would gain, the more Harold attained a look of ferocious hunger in his eyes. He had always been powerless before his father came. And now that he had tasted it...he wanted more. And the pleasures he had savoured...and the ecstasy the daemon described... It was like a deep hunger awoken in the young boy, and he wanted to taste it all!

Harold looked at the ring. He remembered the day his father had given it to him.

"I want you to have this ring, as a symbol of this glorious day when you become my son. Take good care of it. Treasure it. There may come a day that you will need it. Keep it safe."

Harold loved it dearly, it was a symbol of how his life had changed. It was a symbol of the end of his misery and the beginning of his joy. And it was a symbol that connected him to his father. But he had never understood what his father meant by needing it. Until now.

It was nothing more than a gold ring with a deep red gemstone, a mere trinket. He had at least ten ones like it after their last shopping trip, and it hadn't even magical properties or anything else. Harold had to admit he never quite understood what was so special about this ring, for his father to say what he did.

It was only now that he looked at the outstretched hand of Belus Pul that he fully understood what his father had meant. And he realised that he had worded it the way he did to make sure it became his most treasured possession...nothing else would satisfy the demon. And if he had known he would lose it, he would never have kept it so dear.

Even back then, his father was looking out for him and thinking about his future. It made his heart glow with pleasure and make him even more determined to not disappoint him.

It was hard, but it was the price he had to pay to become like his dad, and he only hesitated for a second, before handing it over, and watched as the daemon placed it on his own hand with a smile. And for a mere second, the daemon's eyes seemed to glow.

* * *

Sigvald was the first to notice his son as he walked proudly out of the same doors he had entered with. And while he'd never admit it, he had been a bit nervous...and wasn't that exciting?!...about how the meeting would go.

But his Patron had been very adamant about meeting Harold alone, which Sigvald supposed could be because he would need to give himself to Slaanesh and the Daemon willingly, without someone pushing him into it. The Gods of Chaos did not have many rules...or any, really... but there was still some strange universal laws at work that Sigvald still wasn't entirely familiar with, for all his studies into the Forbidden Scriptures and Dark Rites.

As Harold came closer, he noticed instantly that the chain with the ring on was gone, and he let out a great big grin and picked up his son, twirling him around before hugging him. He had accepted the deal! He quickly crushed the tiny little sting of the subconscious...discomfort...in his actions. Slaanesh was a wonderful Master! Why-ever would he even consider this to be a bad thing? His son would thank him for it later.

"I take it everything went well?! I'm SO proud of you son!" Sigvald said as he placed Harold down and ruffled his hair. Harold basked in the glow of his father's affection and pride, and his chest swelled with warm emotions of a kind he had never felt. Amplified by the blessings of Slaanesh, it brought tears of joy to his eyes, and a fierce determination to do everything in his power to make his father even more proud of him.

"T..thank you father." Harold chocked out with a burst of joyful laughter, as he hugged him tightly. His life had been turned upside down these last few weeks, and he'd seen such strange things and creatures, but he would not change it for the world!

"You know son..." Sigvald studied his face, trying to find the best angle to present his cause. "You wanted us to be a true family, didn't you?"

"Of course!" Harold said, wondering what his father wanted this time.

"Well... Wouldn't you want to look more like me? I mean... How can anyone know I'm your father if we don't look alike?" Sigvald said, gauging his son's reaction, pleased with the tint of pain in Harold's eyes.

"I...I want that..." He whispered out, scared that his father might have reconsidered...maybe he didn't want to be his father anymore? The thought was too horrible to even contemplate, and fear grasped his tiny heart.

"Our wonderful Patron gave me this potion. We just need to add some of my blood to it, and when you drink it, you'll look almost exactly like me!" Sigvald exclaimed happily. What he failed to say is that it would replace the genes of his biological dad with Sigvald's own genes.

It was a wonderful Daemonic invention, really. And a far step above any of the legal versions of adoption potions. Not that Sigvald knew this, of course. Énka was still reading up on the laws, and he saw no need to inform his Prince of such minor details until it became necessary, they'd only bore him.

But as a consequence, it would efficiently change Harold's look completely. Or, well... Sigvald had asked his patron to tweak it slightly so that his new son would keep the emerald eyes that he was so obsessed with, and the deep black colour of his hair. Sigvald was nothing if not obsessed with beauty and aesthetics, after all. It was really only the genes for his hair that would be left of the Potter genes after this.

But he hadn't lied about the effects...much... He just... omitted the fact that he wasn't his biological father. He saw no reason to inform his son about that. At least not until he'd taught him just how little value there was in blood bonds and biological parents. Oh, he was suddenly getting excited to have him meet his wife. Maybe having a son would make her stop complaining so much. All women wanted a child to spoil, right?

He also casually 'forgot' to mention that he promised him his son's services to the daemon in exchange for this potion. Which made him all the more happy his son had accepted his fate without him having to work on this for months and then returning.

He would have been very irritated if he had acted the way Oddrún had and insulted him. How foolish... Trading eternal beauty, power and wealth for a monstrous form, just because he got cold feet when he saw his scribe? Sigvald quickly turned his thoughts away from the past. He hated to reminiscent. It reminded him of the innocence he lost, and he couldn't stand it!

He quickly pulled his sword and focused on the joy he felt over having someone beautiful, other than himself, to gaze at, and all the pleasure he would take in teaching his son about the world, and about all the many joys in it. He shuddered in delight at the thought of it.

Harold watched as Sigvald used his sword to cut his skin just enough to drip a few drops of blood into the bottle before the magic in his armour closed the wound up. He swirled it around a bit, watching it with fascination as it mixed and started to emit an eerie darkly purple glow.

"Bottoms up, son!" Sigvald said as he handed the bottle to his son.

Harold held his breath and put on a brave face as he swallowed down the oily, gooey substance. But even as he emptied it, he gasped out in agonising pleasure before he dropped the bottle and fell to his knees, moaning. "Aaaaah~" It tasted like liquid pleasure... Like the nectar of the gods... And then it began to burn, and Harold whimpered as the burning pleasure and pain rushed through him.

It was horrible! It was divine! It was ecstasy!

"Oh, I forgot to tell you... It will knock you out for a few hours. But don't worry, son. I'll take care of you. I'll always take care of you." The last thing he saw before he blacked out was his father smiling down at him with an intense and gleeful look on his face.

What he didn't see was that the second he was out cold, Sigvald called for Oddrún to take care of him and tell him when he seemed to come too, before allowing two of the daemonic looking androgynous creatures to pull him away, laughing.

* * *

Harold groaned as he woke up, thankful that the light inside the tent was dim. He heard someone rushing out of the tent and shouting, but he was still too groggy to catch what they said. Then he smiled. He'd had the most wonderful dream... He wasn't sure what it had been about, and it felt like he'd been run over by a truck, but there was a voice, sweet like honey and ash, chuckling in his head, just outside of reach. His dream was slipping away.

"...and even unto the steps of His throne..." Harold muttered as he slowly came too. "...poof..." He blinked a few times, wondering what it was he had been talking about. The dream slipping from his grasp like grains of sand.

He slowly opened his eyes. The world had changed, yet still stayed the same.

He stared at his father in awe, as if seeing him for the first time. Had the world always been so bright and beautiful, or was it because of everything that had happened? He looked around him, awestruck at seeing the details in his environment for the first time in his life. Was it a gift from Slaanesh for yesterday?*

As he looked up again, he saw the smiling face of his father, and his heart flared with a nostalgic longing for someone ethereal he could not remember who was, but that his father reminded him so very much of...

He shook his head, deciding it didn't matter. His father was here, and he loved him, and that was all that mattered. It made his heart swell with joy to think about how his father apparently had watched over him, and he basked in the pleasure of being loved. It was the first person in his life that actually loved him! He hugged his father tightly.

"Thank you." He whispered into his chest. It was hard, not soft like the exquisite materials of his clothing suggested, but it was comforting all the same. If Sigvald, in his confusion, hesitated a second before returning the gesture, it was lost in the passionate embrace Sigvald gave his son soon after.

Whatever was in that potion, it had worked, and Sigvald couldn't stop staring at the beautiful child before him. It was like seeing himself in the mirror...yet different. His skin was flawless, just slightly pale. The hair was straight, black and fell around his face like a raven's wings and his eyes glittered like emeralds.

It fascinated the narcissistic lover of beauty to no end.

"Are you ready to go home, son?" Sigvald said with a grin. It never occurred to him that Harold might be exhausted from everything, he merely got the sudden desire to show his son his magnificent home, and take in the expression of his wife as she saw their new son. He was sure she'd be thrilled, just like he was! How could she not, with such a beautiful child?

* * *

Harold was not happy about leaving this beautiful, lovely, warm place that was filled with so much joy and happiness to him, but he did want to see his new home...and his mother.

Sigvald had told her how she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on, and they proceeded to tell the heroic story on how he laid waste to a whole city to get her.

He proudly described the wonderful feeling of slaying his enemies and kidnapping his wife...whom, naturally, fell in love with him at first sight, and it made Harold feel in awe of his father's heroic deeds. He had a nagging suspicion that it was wrong to kill someone, but his father never did anything wrong, and he chalked it up to his aunt and uncle had lied to him...again!

As he looked around him, he noticed that more people seemed to be riding together, and there were noticeably fewer horses after two days of riding. He wondered a bit about what had happened to the rest of them, but he supposed they must have wandered off or something. He certainly couldn't see very far in this snow, maybe horses had a terrible vision? Could horses use glasses? He asked his father, who merely laughed and patted his head.

"Don't worry about it, son. They're useful, but not important. We don't normally have horses with us, the weather is too harsh for them, but the man who sold it to me claimed they were sturdier than other horses. They've lasted longer than I expected, I admit." Sigvald said with a grin and patted the small, exhausted Icelandic pony they rode on.

He looked around and noticed how frozen and exhausted his people were and frowned. Maybe it was time to stop for the night. He'd rather not lose his entertainment after all. And freezing to death was such an annoying way to go... There was neither pleasure nor ecstasy in that. And even less beauty.

He called the Host to a halt.

* * *

Dumbledore was pacing in his office. He was worried. Incredibly so. Arabella Figs had just spoken to him over the floo, and the news she brought him was incredibly troubling. She had not seen Harry in weeks now, and she was getting worried that something had happened to him. Granted, the Dursley's would often keep him indoors, but not in the summer. He was so often outside, tending to that garden of his... at least he assumed that was his hobby. Why else would a five-year-old child be out there, playing in the dirt all day?

He quickly pushed away from the nagging thought he got whenever Arabella mentioned all the work he did around the house. He wanted, no needed to believe that Harry was just a happy little boy that was helping out. It was a good thing that he was taught early to do chores.

Many parents gave their children chores. It was perfectly normal. And healthy! He'd learn to do things on his own. That was always good. He wouldn't get spoiled. Which was important. The hero of the wizarding world couldn't get a big head, it was imperative. He shuddered to think how he would have grown up had he been placed in the wizarding world, spoiled rotten and worshipped like a hero before he could even walk.

No... This way, he could have a normal life and a normal childhood. And even if they might be a bit hard on him, that would only build character. And if what he feared was correct, the boy would need all the strength he could get.

He had known when he placed him there that little Harry wouldn't have an easy life. He knew that the muggles wouldn't want him there, and would certainly not spoil him. But they were still family. They'd take care of him. It was absolutely vital that he didn't become spoiled, or have his fame go to his head.

He shuddered at the thought of having another Lockhart made of him. The man had been all over the news recently with his latest book, and it was evident to anyone with half a brain that the man skated through life on his good looks alone.

It wouldn't do for the future hero of the Wizarding world to become too pompous. He needed to learn humility. And he needed to determine the value of hard work, as well as befriending muggles... It was the only way he could adequately learn to sympathise with them. And with the Muggle-borns.

He needed to sympathise with the abused and misunderstood... and the best way to learn that would be to experience it himself. That way, when he came to the wizarding world and gained all the power of his social standing, it would not go to his head. Like it had him.

Dumbledore smiled a bitter smile as he thought back at his own past. 'Oh, Ariana... I won't fail him like I failed you.'

Albus too-many-names Dumbledore was not a happy wizard right now. And he kept pacing as he waited for his agent to report back to him about how the situation was, and why little Harry had not been outside as of late...

He walked over to the Floo. It was time to call in some favours.

* * *

An army of frozen Sigvalds punctuated the darkness, drenching the landscape with pale blue light. Each beaming Prince was nearly twenty feet tall and build of slick, pulsing ice, and each of them was a caricature of the real Prince, with exaggerated features and absurdly powerful muscles.

As they lifted their arms in welcome, a large number of weary figures shuffled through the snow towards them, throwing down their heavy bags and weapons and collapsing gratefully at their feet.

Harold was stunned by the magnificent sight of the figures rising up from the ground like magic. And even more by the fact that the icy statues seemed to emit a strange heat.

As he reached one of the blazing effigies, he let out a weary sigh of pleasure. The ice prince's limbs were radiating unnatural warmth, melting the snow at its feet into a dark, bubbling pool.

Harold sank to the ground in front of it, curling up on a thick winter-pelt of a bear that his father had made a servant layout for him. He smiled as he felt his father stroking his hair.

"How far is home?" Harold asked tiredly, curling up in his father's lap.

"We should reach it tomorrow," Sigvald said, feeling generous after such a successful trip he continued to stroke his son's hair, marvelling at how soft it was to the touch...just like his own. He was getting tired himself, and reached over to the travel-bags the servants had carried and placed next to them, and pulled out more pelts. He didn't entirely trust the exotic materials of the other world to hold up against the cold. And it really wouldn't do for someone of his standing to catch a cold. Or his son, at second thought.

Harold smiled as his father wrapped them both up in blankets, keeping them nice and warm. It felt so good to his little body, after having been halfway frozen for so long.

"Father... Tell me about my new mother. Will she like me? What should I say to her?" Harold asked, worried she might not think him good enough, and he already loved her. Even if he only knew her from his father's stories.

Sigvald laughed and proceeded to tell him about how her great beauty had driven men to such insane acts in an attempt to steal her away from that she had to have her face covered at all times. He told her how fierce her temper could be, and how elegant and cultured she was when she wanted too.

Harold smiled as his eyes slowly fell shut at the thought of how wonderful his parents and his new life was. No matter how much he had to freeze and walk through the snow, or anything else, it was still leaps and bounds better than his old life.

He fell asleep in his father's arms, with a happy smile on his little face.

* * *

Harold awoke as the deep darkness of the night gave way to the bleak light of day. It was hard to say exactly what time it was, he had no watch after all...and he was pretty sure nobody else here did either. It was slowly beginning to sink in just how different this strange country was from his old home, much as he didn't really ever think of the Dursley's house as 'home'.

He yawned and looked around, noticing that the camp was already buzzing with life, if a lot more subdued than they usually were. The same people who had unloaded the horses and laid out the pelts to sleep on the day before was now packing it back up, and a few of the girls were running around, handing out the beef jerky and water that they had lived off the last couple of days.

The same woman who had attended to him at the hotel rushed over to him the moment he sat up, and helped him get ready for the day, as well as making sure he got the best food they still had. Which included a few candy items that were small enough to bring without many problems, and that wouldn't spoil for the next fifty years or so, considering the number of chemicals in them.

Not that Harold cared. He was happy just to have food to eat every single day. Although he noticed that he did miss the delicious food he had at the hotel, and the variety of choices. Having the same thing for several days in a row was a bit...dull.

But he didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he thanked the nice lady, who seemed embarrassed at this, and asked her where his father was.

"The Geld Prince is talking to his Advisor, your highness." The girl said, handing the young Prince one of the strange, hard candies from the New World. He was such a sweet boy, thanking the servants and everything. Although she doubted that he'd continue with it once he learned what was proper for a Prince, such as him.

Harold almost thanked her again, but he bit his tongue as he remembered her reaction. He didn't want to embarrass the nice lady, even if he wasn't entirely sure why she got embarrassed.

She ushered him up and helped him wrap the massive bear pelt onto him, to keep him warm. And made sure the small cap of rabbit fur was tightly fastened onto his head so it would cover his ears and wouldn't fall off.

Most of the servants were charmed by his unexpected kindness to them, and the Decadent Host was captivated by his beauty, adorable actions, and the fact that he was the child of their beloved Geld Prince. Which lead them to make entirely sure he always had the best they could offer him, whether it was serving him and keeping him safe, or entertaining and flatter him.

Despite the many servants working hard to get everyone ready, the sun was already high on the sky by the time they finally set off. Not that they could see it behind the veil of clouds and snow.

Many of the court members were more than a little lazy, and while Sigvald himself was an early riser, if only so he would get the most fun out of the day, the rest of the Decadent Host was a brocaded tapestry of variety and vices. Sloth was definitively shared by more than a few.

The storm was coming down hard of their strangely joyful group, but by nightfall, it had tapered off somewhat. The wind was blowing as fierce as always, making it appear as if the storm was still going strong, but the moon hung high and bright in the sky.

The suddenly Harold spotted something strange...

Far in the distance, beneath the grumbling black belly of the sky, a triangular star had appeared. It had not been visible from the other side of the valley, but now it was unmistakable; a glittering bauble, hung low over cruel, magisterial peaks.

Harold leaned excitedly forwards in the saddle, wondering what the strange sight could be, as there was not a single other star visible in the vast, darkened sky. He peered out across a vast, frozen lake... hypnotised by the flickering light.

Sigvald, who had spotted the light too, pointed it out to his people, and they all started to chat excitedly, steering their dying horses after him as he clattered across the ice.

The strange assembly of people climbed the other side of the valley, and after a while, Harold realised it was not a star at all. He shook his head in wonder as he saw that the light was a beautiful castle, hanging impossibly in the sky. The building flashed and glittered in the moonlight as large banks of snow spiralled around it. It was made entirely of gold.

Sigvald halted the horses, and placed his hand on Harold's shoulders, and said with a pride-filled voice;

"Welcome home, son."

* * *

 _* Apparently Iceland has a long history of corrupted prime-ministers._

 _*At this age (around 6) Harry hasn't been discovered by the school to use glasses, as he only barely have started it. Which is why he doesn't understand what exactly had happened when his vision improved. (As it was apparently an inherited genetic flaw leading to poor eyesight, it would have been fixed when the genes of his father were eradicated and replaced. And Sigvald has a sight like a hawk.)_

 _I would like to thank Alux, Inspirational Youtube Chanel for Future Billionaires for the info about Iceland's more luxurious aspects... As well as a significant number of other luxury items. (Although I also use different sources, such as a tv show about the Worlds Most Expensive...anything, and A LOT of googling. lol)_

 _I will also point out that, as far as descriptions of particular places and people go, I've quoted the book Sigvald the Magnificent, albeit twisting the original text to better fit the story._

 _It has taken far longer than it should to write this, but I hope you all enjoy reading it. It's quite a bit longer than my usual chapters too, but, ah well... Enjoy~_

 _-Nate_


	4. Chapter 4

Anyone who had entered the office of the great Albus Dumbledore that day, somewhere around noon. As a matter of fact, it was right on time for tea and biscuits, which the eccentric old man shared with his beloved pet phoenix. Not that phoenixes much enjoyed tea.

He took a small sip and sighed happily, taking care not to spill any on his new midnight blue robes with delicate little gold patterns. A nice touch of formal for his 3 o'clock appointment, which he sadly had to rush through to be able to have a few minutes to himself before the 4 o'clock Wizengamot meeting.

It was, he supposed, the downside of holding so many titles. Especially as school was starting soon, and he really couldn't leave all of his duties on Minerva, she was overworked enough as it was.

But such was the price he paid for watching over and guiding the wizarding population. They so often acted just like the children he remembered them too be, and someone had to look out for them and make sure they didn't accidentally hurt themselves.

He smiled as he looked out over his beloved domain of many years. There was something soothing about listening to the soft puffs and quiet whirling of a school in which everything was working smoothly.

Suddenly he sat up and placed his cup down on the table a bit too quickly. A small stain of tea escaped and fell onto the dark oak desk and stayed in a puddle around the cup and saucer. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Curious silver gadgets that perked precariously on spindle-legged tables, whirled, churned and came to a stop. Puffs of smoke turned to freight trains of dangerous yellows and reds, before sizzling out, like a dying breeze. Others whirled faster and faster, spinning whichever way until they, with a great screeching noise, exploded in a shower of light and glitter in a strange remembrance of Guy Fawkes day celebrations.

The slightly illegal tracking devices tied to Harry Potter was the first to break. It tittered and spun, screeched and whirled, before it exploded in a glittering cascade of silver, catching the colors of the many different sources of light in the old man's office in their reflective facets.

This was quickly followed by a number of blood based ones that suddenly began to behave strangely. Flying up spinning, huffing and puffing like a great big dragon, before falling silently to the ground like a punctuated balloon.

Dumbledore stared at the scene, wondering what had happened as those that were left seemed to only half-way work. Suddenly a large siren sounded, before a glowing golden crystal ball exploded in a shower of glitter and smoke, making the old man cough.

The wards around Private Drive had fallen!

You would never think the old and grandfatherly headmaster capable of reaching a much higher speed than a slight saunter, but the speed with which he reached the fireplace, and the quick accuracy with witch he reached for the jar of Floo Powder stationed above it, was nothing short of athletic.

"Severus!" He very nearly shouted into the fire, a quivering tint of mad desperation graced his sombre voice.

* * *

Petunia posed in front of the mirror in her very new, black and stylish Versache dress. She shot her reflection a seductive smile, and went back to her dilemma of which lipstick to use for the charity ball that Vernon's company was throwing later tonight.

She reflected on how absolutely perfect her life had been, ever since they sold that thrice-damned child of her freak sister to that charming young man. And, she thought as she brushed down the fabric and adjusted the gold-strapped belt, they had finally gotten something of value out of that unwanted burden those horrible people had so rudely dumped at their doorstep, without so much as by your leave.

That nice rich boy had been more than happy to take the freakish burden off their hands. Not to mention pay them handsomely for their trouble. Whatever guilt she might feel about selling the kid as a slave was quickly forgotten with every new purchase.

Besides... her dear, sweet, patient husband had grown terribly inpatient with the freak. And she was sure he was far better off wherever he was now. At least the kid didn't have to worry about the other neighbor kids beating him up any more.

Not Dudley. Never Dudley. Not her, sweet, innocent little angel. Her sweet Diddikins would never do something so vile!

And to add to that Vernon's had just gotten a wonderfully important promotion at work. Which meant a new paycheck and something new to brag about to her neighbors. And together with everything else that had happened lately she could finally have the happy, perfect, normal life that she had always dreamed about.

She swatted away the re-occurring sting of jealousy at her sister's magical life. She didn't want that anyway, so why would she be jealous? Ridiculous! Besides, that whore had gotten herself blow up. Clearly magic wasn`t something worth having when it just got you killed!

Petunia was humming a happy tune to herself, even as she looked over all of the potential properties that they had been consider to move too. They had narrowed down the options to only three, and Vernon said he'd let her choose which one she liked best, as they all looked the same to him. They were really moving up in the world, she and her small, happy family.

Life was very good for Petunia Dursley. Very good indeed.

* * *

Severus Snape hated his life. Now more than ever. He glared spitefully at the door in front of him.

That trice-damned child of a bastard and bully couldn't even stay put in his own bloody home! So...what? Did he run away because he didn't get the expensive new toy he wanted? Snape grumbled to himself, squaring his shoulders and lifting his hand to knock on that accursed door.

And why couldn`t the old fool check on him himself?! It wasn't like he'd get any more lost if they waited a day or two. The Potter brat proboably only did it to get attention anyway, just like his blasted father. He stared at the white-painted door in front of him.

Bloody muggles! Did any of them have a single original thought in their head? Every damned house looked exactly the same! He double-checked the address, then ringed the doorbell, sneering in contempt. Disgusting!

It didn`t take long before a strangely familiar horse-faced woman opened the door. That hair...those squinting eyes and that stuck-up look... He knew that look. His body tightened and his hands balled into tight fists, but his face betrayed non of his inner turmoil.

"You!" She snarled, and rudely slammed the door in his face. Probably hoping it hit him too. She was just that type of woman.

Petunia was furious! How dare that greasy-haired bastard show his face here! After how he stole away her sister! After all the humiliating 'pranks' he played on her, just because she was getting even with her oh-so-spoiled little sister. She still remembered how the other kids laughed at her when used their godforsaken hokus pokus on her!

She clenched her jaw, and ignored the persistent knocking.

"Go away!" She yelled. "We don`t want your kind here!" She spat out venomously.

If Snape had been unhappy before, by now, he was furious!

Petunia! Lilly's blasted bitch of a sister! It had taken him a few moments to recognize her after all these years, but now that he had, he wondered how anyone could forget that ugly, horse-like face and high-pitched screeching. Like a cat caught in a lawnmower.

Snape seriously considered just blasting down the door. Save himself the trouble of knocking. He refused to acknowledge the small twig of worry over Lilly`s child being left with her jealous bitch sister.

In the end, he decided to instead ring the doors of the neighbors and ask them about the Potter brat instead. He really didn't have time to run after the blasted spawn of the bane of his existence.

It took several hours and many desperate and failed attempt of escaping invites for tea and gossip, but in the end he got a pretty good picture of the life of the little menace that was the new bane of his existence. Or was it more than a year? It seemed as if nobody really thought about it until much later, and certainly care more about the gossip worthy details than the exact date. Great. As if his job wasn't hard enough as it was.

It seemed that everyone was agreeing that the brat was a vile little delinquent. Everyone agreed was heading for juvie soon. And no. They hadn't personally seen him steal, but they knew someone who knew someone who had seen it. Besides, he was lying all the time, everyone knew that!

And they'd all seen him rummage around in the trash and leaving a mess sometimes, who knows what he was looking for? Everyone had decided to make sure they never threw away any personal info. Just in case. The nosy neighbors nodded at their own gossipy wisdom and shared looks.

Snapes own worry -carefully concealed, even from himself- was that the yard-work he seemed to do every day might not strictly be some kind of fair and just punishment. And the boy might have been scavenging for food in those overturned trashcan, desperation and starvation can drive any human to questionable acts, and knowing Petunia`s hate for her sister and everything magical, it wasn't such a far-fetched scenario.

But such thoughts were quickly squashed, as he heard quite a few more stories of his delinquency. Like how he somehow pranked his teacher`s hair blue, or climbed the school roof and refused to come down. Or teased the dog until it went mad and chased him up a tree.

Just like his bloody father!

But what if... Snape closed his eyes and pinched his nose. Taking a few deep, calming breaths as he counted to ten. He didn't even want to contemplate the though that it sounded like bloody abuse. If anyone knew the signs of it, it would be him. And he loathed that tiny little twig of sympathy he felt growing in his chest right now.

He absolutely refused to contemplate what it might mean, nor would he ever be the least bit grateful to whoever clearly was compassionate enough to remove him from those two walruses and the screeching banshee woman. He wouldn't! He couldn't care less! Blasted brat.

He blinked a few times. Must have gotten something in his eye, that's all. Bloody muggles and their bloody contagious allergies.

* * *

Young Harold was currently lying curled up in his nice, comfortable king size bed. And was currently contemplating how wonderful it felt to have someone whom loved him! How good it felt to have his very own room and a bed to lie in, rather than a spider-infested cuppboard under the stairs. To have toys, and to have food in his belly. To actually eat enough to feel full!

He felt a wide smile slowly stretch across his pink lips as he contemplated his new life. He hugged his first ever teddy-bear tightly and nearly bounced out of bed, only to bounce to his toes in joy. It felt like he was flying, like he could life off the ground at any moment!

And he still had to pinch himself to mak sure it wasn't all a wonderful dream. Which, to be fair, was made a bit harder by living in a medival palace, wherein half the inhabitants were anything but human. The fact that his room was dressed in lavish red and black wallpaper of painted silk, and outfitted with every luxury known to man -many of them in gold, his hairbrush included-, and seeming to be haunted by dream-like scented clouds of perfume and burning incense, did nothing to help the image.

The Asian styled artwork of unknown origin, and the lacquered wood panels set up for privacy in front of his gilded bath-tub, gave the whole room an exotic look. And when you paired with the the floating cloud of smoke, as well as the myriads of soft couches and stacks of comfortable pillows large enough to lie on -not to mention the low, dark tables accompanying them- an educated man might have wondered if he had somehow wondered into a 19'th century opium den.

Harold gently ran his hand over the gilded rocking-horse his father had ordered to be custom made for him. Marveling at the realistic details, and hair so real he could have sworn it must have been stolen from a princess, and of the gleaming gemstones in it's eye-sockets. And he wondered again if it was real, or if aunt Petunia had hit him over the head with the frying-pan one time too many.

Maybe all this was just something his delusional mind had come up with while his real body was stuck in a hospital bed somewhere... or slowly dying in his old cupboard. He couldn't imagine them taking him to see the doctor.

Just as he pondered how horribly sad it would be, and if anyone would come to his funeral, a immaculately dressed servant entered though the lavishly decorated oak doors to his room.

"My Prince." The servant stepped into his room, bowing low as he always did. "I've been tasked with making you ready to see your Mother today." He said and smiled at his royal highness with a joyful expression.

"My Mother?" Harold's eyes flew open and he fell a step back, catching himself on a table. "I have a Mother?!" He nearly hyperventilated as he stared wide-eyed at the servant.

"Of course. The Princess..." He hesitated, remembering their self-declared King's latest fancy. "I suppose she'll be the Queen now. I'm sure your Father will anounce it at the feast tonight..." He had to hide a smile at the amazement that filled the little Prince's eyes.

And he wondered -and not for the first time- where Sigvald had found this child. And why did the young Master appear to be so amazed at such a simple fact as having parents?

He supposed he must have been orphaned, but he stopped herself from thinking about it further. It was really not in his place to ponder what the King may or may not have done. He nearly blushed in shame that he had even conceived the thought. It was not his place to question his King and ruler. He pulled herself together.

"The Queen is to meet you in her chambers today for tea. She's very exited to see you you know." He said, smiling down at the beautiful child. What he failed to mention was the shouting, thrown vases, and various other signs of anger that their Princess...Queen now... had shown when Sigvald had told her about Harold being his son.

At least until Sigvald managed to explain to her that it wasn't that he had cheated on her behind her back to get an Heir, but that he adopted him. Rescued him, in fact. It was quite heroic of him, really.

Of course, Sigvald also claimed he did it for her sake, not his own, but she knew better than to trust a word her husband said. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she had wanted a child for some time now. And it wasn't like they hadn't tried. But something always went wrong. It never lasted, never worked.

And she softened a bit as she remembered all the nights she had cried after having lost yet another unborn child. And Sigvald had stayed with her the entire night, wiping away her tears and cheering her up. He could be so gentle and loving sometimes, but her husband was terribly mercurial. His mood could change in the blink of an eye, and she never understood what went on in that devilishly handsome head of his.

She slapped him, for good measure, then kissed him after cursing him from here to the Hell-pit. A very confused Sigvald had been more than happy to accept his wife's change of heart. He was, after all, good natured and capricious himself. But above all, very weak to pleasure of any kind. And his wife knew exactly how to best please him. When she wanted too.

After hearing under what circumstances he had found the child tho, Vigdìs couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the child.

She knew what it felt like to be torn from your loving parents. Sigvald had killed them to get to her after all. She was still bitter about that, but she couldn't really fault him. She hadn't exactly resisted his advances when he slayed his way into her bedchamber, cheeks ablaze from the battle, and lightly spattered with blood. With his roughish good looks, and quick-spoken silver tongue and sweet, sweet words of promised and eternal love and riches.

He had seduced her on the spot, and had his way with her...not that she resisted much, she had longed for the touch of a man for some time now. She was, she reminiscend, only 17 at the time. Too young to know any better. Certainly not old enough to recognize that her new husband was several centuries older than her, and conniving to boot.

But at least she had followed him of her own free will. And he had made her life an enchanted dream, just like he promised... for a few decades at least. While the poor child had been sold as a slave the moment he lost his own parents, and been forced to do work he was much to young to do.

It must have been terrible. A tragedy made all the worse because of some unscrupulous individuals out to profit on his parent's deaths.

After that she had been more than amicable to pretend she was the child's real mother. It wasn't like anyone would question it, considering how far away his home country was.

And it would make the little tyke happy. He had been through so much. He deserved a little happiness in his life. It was the least she could do! Beneath the spoiled exterior, the former Princess had a much softer heart than her husband, even if it could be difficult to perceive sometimes.

The servant snapped out of the memory to focus on his current tasks.

"Now come along. You need to bathe after that long trip home." He said and held up a pair of soft-soled sock-like shoes. Very clearly intent on putting them on Harold's small feet.

Harold merely sighed and sad down on the bed. It was useless to argue with him, and -he had to admit- it felt nice to be taken care of sometimes. To have the tables turned, and to have someone else serve him for a change. Quite the opposite of how he was treated by his uncle and aunt, which he was slowly growing to resent more and more. Along with whomever that had sold him to them.

His daddy promised him that the Doctor would show him some neat tricks to make them suffer, when he was ready for it. So he could take revenge. Harold found he liked the idea more the more he thought about it.

Over the servant's shoulder, there was draped a fine velvet robe of midnight blue, for the young Prince to wear on his way to the bathing area.

It may have been located in the room adjacent to his -so that the servants could fill the tub without disturbing the Prince- but the castle could be a bit chilly in the morning, before all the fireplaces were properly heated it up. Thus the need for clothes.

Harold had mostly gotten used to having a servant dress him by now, but he did feel horribly embarrassed when he insisted on washing him as well.

He was used to taking care of himself, and it was horribly embarrassing to let anyone else see him naked. But he was getting used to it. Nobody ever frowned at nudity in the palace it seemed.

Why, just last night he had seen a boy and girl...at least he thinks it was a girl... getting all naked in the middle of the party and wrestling on a pillow. It looked both fun an exhausting, and they made the strangest noises, but non of the grownups as much as batted an eye at it.

Harold supposed that these grownups were much nicer than the one he used to know before. And they liked to wrestle naked. Maybe he should ask his daddy if he could try the naked-wrestling sometime too. But maybe with a girl his own size. He was sure he'd loose whatever game they were playing if he was playing with an adult. Adults always won.

But it looked fun. He allowed the servant to submerge him in the rose-scented bath water, and sighed happily as the the perfectly heated water washed over his small body. He docilely allowed the servant move him around as he wanted to, to properly wash him with a soft cloth.

Maybe all this naked business wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and sighed, placing them on his desk. Before rubbed his temples in small, smooth circles. This week had just been one headache after another.

Not only had every sing device he had created to monitor the Potter boy failed, but his attempts of making them work again failed miserably. And now it truly seemed as if the poor boy had gone missing.

It also appeared as if nothing Severus had done to, or threatened the Dursley's with, -honestly, that boy needed to learn to control his temper, those poor muggles...- had made the boy's aunt tell him anything about how it happened, or who had him now.

And to make matters worse, when he finally found the time in his busy schedule to go and see Mrs. Dursley himself, all he found was an empty house with a 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn.

Arabella had told him that it appeared as if they had moved to a new house somewhere. But she had to admit she didn't know exactly where to.

She said she assumed it wouldn't be too far off tho. Petunia had always loved living in Private Drive, and all her friends and loved ones were there. So Arabella had made sure to stay in the good graces of Petunia's best friends in the neighborhood, waiting to hear where they might have settled down. Surely Petunia would have told her best friend!

She also informed him that -according to one of her neighbors- Petunia had mentioned something about moving to a better house -now that she had more money- and it didn't seem like a far-fetch thing to her. Especially when you considered the fact that she had been sporting new designer-clothes and Vernon drove around in a new expensive car nowadays. Which was another mystery all on it's own.

Arabella had then told him that the Dursley's had seemed to be in an awful hurry to leave after Severus visited them, but she had assumed they were late for a flight or something. They did usually go on a vacation around this time of year. But they usually also asked Arabella herself to take care of the boy while they were gone.

She had hoped that it meant that they finally had accepted him as one of the family, and simply decided to take him with them. But for some reason a moving-company had come not long after and moved all of their furniture. And just before noon today, a Realtor agent had put up the sign on their lawn, claiming to be selling the house for a third party that wished to remain anonymous.

When Dumbledore finally had chased them down, it turned out that the third party had wanted to remain anonymous because they had acquired the house in a not-strictly-legal manner. And as such, they had no idea who had sold it to them or why. Not that they cared, the price was dirt-cheap and they expected to make a lot of money on it.

It had taken all of his will-power to not threaten them himself. But he quickly reminded himself that these were just poor, defenseless muggles trying to make a living in a cruel, magic-less world.

And he was sure they had a perfectly good reason to want to earn some quick cash in such an illegal way. At least they weren't hurting anyone, they were just a little misguided.

They seemed to eagerly accept his advice about being more careful in the future...at least he hoped that it was the reason they nodded quickly and spoke rapidly with each other in a foreign language that made it sound like they were arguing. They did say 'Yes' a lot in that broken english of theirs. At least he was pretty sure what they said meant yes.

He sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he was getting to old for this game. He had seen himself forced to utilize a muggle detective agency to track them down, as he didn't know anyone who knew how to utilize the modern muggle doodads and thingamajigs like the conny-putters, or whatever it was again. He had to admit he had not had the time to keep updated on all the new muggle inventions lately.

However, when he told his story, -slightly modified for muggles- to the detective he was hiring, he had promised to try his best. But the nice man had warned him to not get his hopes up too much. These cases could be very difficult sometimes. And if they had made a deal with what sounded like some very criminal elements, it was entierly possible that they had also aquired fake ID's and fled the country. It wasn't as common in the UK as un the US, but it did happen from time to time.

No... Albus Dumbledore, Champion of the Wizarding World and Protector of Muggles, was not having a good day... Not a good day at all.

* * *

"Good evening...Mother..." Harold said, timidly, making a slight bow with his head as he tried desperately to remember what the nice man teaching him manners at the nice hotel had told him on how to behave when he met a Queen. Should he kiss her hand? No. The Queen needed to initiate any contact. But he was a Prince, and so the rules were different for him... weren't they? WHERE THEY?!

Harold was two steps from hyperventilation when he was swept up in a cloud of sweet perfume, with weak traces of musky spices he had never known existed. And as he froze up at the unexpected body-contact, he suddenly realized his new mommy was hugging him.

"Oh, sweet child~" Vigd s smiled as she held him close, and began to gently stroke his hair.

Harold hadn't mentioned how adorable the child was! And, oh, how he panicked when he saw her... Poor child. He must be so lost and alone in this strange new world. Sigvald did mention he hailed from a faraway place that was nothing like anything she had seen before. It brought back those bitter-sweet memories of the time in her own youth when she was seduced by Sigvald, and stolen away from everything she had ever know and loved. In what seemed like a lifetime ago to her now.

"M...Mom...?" Harold chocked out, tears threatening to overflow and escape his sparkling green eyes.

Was this his mommy? His REAL mommy?! He was so confused. He always thought his parents were dead. And if they weren't dead, why had they left him? Did they hate him? But...no... The nice lady was hugging him and making him feel nice and cared for, and...and... He let out a slight gasp, his little hands clinging to the silky fabric of her dress. But it was lost somewhere in the comfortable the ruffles and folds of her skirts.

He stared in awe at the silky fabric with it's intricate twisting patterns of her rich purple dress. With it's billowing skirt and more ruffles than he could count. At least the skirt had. The top half of it barely had enough fabric to hold the whole thing together, much less preserve any modesty.

The dress left her shoulders enchantingly bare, and it's chest was cleaved down all the way to her navel. It was barely held together by thin interweaving silken strings, and showed off most of her generous bosom. The sides of it was also slit open, barely held together by the same fine lacing as the front, while her skirts were a veritable ball-gown of

She looked like a fairy-princess, the kind he had only seen on the cover of storybooks. Had she been enchanted?! Or stolen away by an evil dragon or wicked queen!

The servant noted with some amusement that the Princess was feeling nostalgic today. She didn't usually wear this much clothes in her own quarters. The fireplace burned hotly to ensure she could walk around naked and still be comfortably warm. Undoubtedly Prince Sigvald's idea.

"Did daddy rescue you from an evil witch?!" Harold slipped out, before quickly covering his mouth. His eyes widened and his lips quaked, as he remembered how the Dursley's used to punish him for asking questions. But the elegant, nice lady...his mother...his real mother, merely smiled at him. A soft, gentle smile that filled his little heart with joy.

"Sigvald fought a whole city to get to me, child," she said, a bitter smile gracing her lips briefly, before she composed herself. At the same time she was silently wondering what kind of nonsense her dear husband had been filling his ears with this time.

But she quickly realized... maybe that was exactly what a child that young needed to hear right now. A fairytale. Rather than the grotesque, macabre truth.

Perhaps when he was older, they'd tell him the truth. Perhaps... As she looked down on that childishly adorable smile, and watched those big, green eyes go from fearful to filled with joy, she nearly had to wipe away a tear from her own eye. He was such a pretty, fragile little thing.

And she could not find it in her to break his little heart by telling him the truth. She could not bear the thought of those glittering puppy-dog eyes filling with tears, after learning what a monster his father truly was. To make such a sweet child cry... She could not bear the thought of it!

Vigdìs gently hugged him, then held him at an arms length to truly study him. She was watching the beautiful slender form. The tears that lingered and glittered like small diamonds on his dark lashes. His ethereal, yet with promise of a later masculine, beauty that looked so much... Like.. Sigvald?!

She send a sharp glare at her clearly amused husband. She didn't mind that he took lovers, she knew how quickly he got bored with just one person, and the lovers never lasted long. It was a point of pride to her that only she could make him return again and again. But to have a son and heir with someone else?!

By now she was positively fuming in repressed anger as she turned to her husband with a cold smile and a look in her glacial blue eyes that made lesser men than him shrink away in raw terror.

Oh, Sigvald would have some explaining to do! And from the way he flinched when she glared at him, he knew what was coming too.

Luckily for Harold, his face was firmly pressed against his new Mother's bosom at this point. And so he failed to see the furious glare she sent his father, as her famous temper acted up. She forced herself to relax her smile and to softened her voice as she turned back to her son.

"Why don't you go along with your man servant while I have a little...chat... with my dear husband." She smiled a bit stiffly, before hugging her new son again. Then she shuffled him along towards the servant that was waiting by the door.

"Take him to the garden, and have the kitchen prepare a light breakfast for us there. Use the White and Gold china. I can't bear to look at anything dark and depressing today," she spoke in that aristocratic tone she normally used with servants. Which made her sound much more like the spoiled princess she really was, than the loving mother she accidentally had become.

But Harold had watched a lot of telly in the hotel, and he had learned that Royalty had to sound...well...royal, in front of servants. They were usually completely different with family. Unless they were trying to kill a distant cusin to become the next heir to the throne or something. He dearly hope HE didn't have any distant cousins that might kill him. Harold suddelty froze up in a fit of worry. Did he have a homicidal cousin hidden away somewhere?!

"Um... Servant?!" Harold tried to sound royal like him mother. He grimaced as he felt he sounded more like a whispering insecure child, and he cleared his throat before quickly trying again. A bit louder this time.

"Servant! I demand that you tell me if I have any distant cousins who might try to kill me!" There! He did it! He ordered her to tell him. It was all properly Royal! Hrmph! His small cheeks puffed up like a chipmunks.

He made a small, proud nod with his head that forced the stoic servant hide a small smile in his hand. The little Prince's attempt to emulate his mother was absolutely adorable. But the servant couldn't help but wonder where he would get such a ridiculous notion from.

Then again, -he admitted to himself- he really didn't know much about royal life. Maybe it was common to kill your cousins where he came from? That New World of his was certainly strange enough as it was...

"Don't worry, your highness. Neither your mother nor your father have any living relatives," he assured him. Which was true, as far as he could tell. Sigvald was after all much older than he looked...all of his relatives were dead a long time ago. And if the rumors were true, Sigvald had killed his wife's entire family in his quest to steal her away. He very much doubted his Prince had left even a single member of it alive. The Prince was usually very thorough when the mood struck him.

The servant shook his head as he wondered why on earth the Princ...the Queen stayed with him, after all he had done. He had, after all, kidnapped her. As well as destroy her entire city and kill her whole family in the process. But the Princess, rather than being offended, was charmed by it all. At least that is how it appeared. Although, while he didn't dare to speculate what his Queen might be thinking, she could be very hard to read sometimes he thought.

According to the rumors she had been tired of being cooped up in the castle by an overprotective father -a necessity that she, being merely 16 at the time, did not understand.

And for all that she fought against it, and grumbled over how he kept her a prisoner here, the servant supposed she really did love her depraved captor and Prince.

Oh, it would be so hard to remember that he was a King now. He sighed and wondered how long that particular fancy would last...

* * *

Sigvald flung wide the two heavy oak doors, and guided his bemused son inside a cathedral-like room. The roof curved loftily, impossibly high up, and twisted and swirled with intricate stone carvings. Far up on the tall walls, nearly by the impossibly high roof, one could see several slim, pointed windows. The floor was covered in finely polished, dark wood, a rare commodity out here in the Chaotic Wastes, and quite valuable.

All along the sides of the wall, there was a large number of intricately carved doors.

"Father...?" Harold asked carefully, wondering what he was planning. He might not know his father too well just yet, but he knew that look on his face. This was something special. And not just a random house-tour.

"This is your new rooms! Do you like it? Of course you like it!" Sigvald laughed before picking up his son and twirling the poor, confused kid around like a twister carousel. But Harold was only 5, and his attention was easily distracted by his father's obvious love for him, and the fun, spinning feeling, and he giggled joyfully.

By the time his father hugged him to him, and popped him on his hip, he was clinging to the older man, feeling dizzy and a bit confused.

"Is my room one of those?" He said, pointing to the doors. His adorable innocent, humble expectations made Sigvald laugh like he hadn't done in a long time, and he quickly placed Harold down.

"This," he exclaimed, flinging his arms wide to indicate everything around them, "are your rooms!"

"All of them?!" Harold's eyes went wide as saucers, and his mouth fell open at the mere thought. Before he squealed with joy and hugged his father tightly around the waist...which was as high as he could reach.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" he chanted, and Sigvald basked in the praise. This beautiful child was stroking his pride and vanity like there was no tomorrow. And the innocent, honest gratitude was something quite novel to the jaded hedonist.

Sigvald decided he quite liked it. Loved it, in fact. He hugged his precious son, the child with all these amusing and entertaining emotions.

Surely he would never be bored with someone like Harold around!

Harold shot a brilliantly bright and happy smile to his first-ever teddy, thinking back on his fist wonderful day in his new home.

* * *

He was just about to get ready for the great Feast his father had planned, with all that entailed. And that was just to celebrate their homecoming, and for his father to present him as his father's heir to the entirety of the Decadent Host.

He loved his new rooms! Even the empty ones! And his awesomely and kind father had promised him that he would wake up his architect from his nap in the Garden of Poets, and let him help Harold design the place to his own liking.

Harold still didn't understand why it would take more than a week just to wake someone up from their nap-time, or why he had to go through a month or two of reconwy... reconnal... some really serious doctoring processes... but his father knew best. Harold was becoming more and more convinced that his father always knew best. He knew everything!

Somehow, his father seemed positively delirious with pleasure at that thought. Harold had no way of knowing just how much Sigvald loved surprise, especially the sweet, innocent ones his son gave him.

The Gilded Palace was truly something else!

It was filled with so much beauty and artwork, - even numerous statues of his Dad- And some of the statues that looked suspiciously similar to the divine Daemon god he had met, up in that strangely green and lush valley up north, where the Gods dwell.

At least that's what the servant had told him; That the gods lived far up north somewhere. Behind a curtain of pure gold and light, that shone like a star on the dark midnight sky. You could see it from the observatory dome. Harold hadn't seen it yet, but his father had promised to show it to him some day. He could hardly wait!

He was also slowly getting used to seeing all the strange creatures that lived in this magical fairytale castle that was suspended impossibly high above the ground below.

He knew it was! For real! He had looked out the window, and it really looked like the whole castle was floating! His young mind spun with the dizzying array of thoughts over all the wondrous things he had seen and heard.

And his dad said they'd be elves at the banquet! elves!

Just like those girls in class always sighed about and told each-other was dashing and golden-haired and super-pretty and stuff! REAL bow-shooting ELVES!

He'd snuck a look at some of the library books once, but it was really, really thick and 3 whole books in the series, and he never got the time to finish them... But he read about the elves. They sounded a bit stuck-up, but really pretty and noble.

Then again, maybe you had to be arrogant if you were Nobel, he pondered. His mother was really arrogant towards the servants, and she used to be a Princess, and now she was a Queen... according to daddy...no, he should call him Father. It was more proper. He wondered if he had to be arrogant too, now that he was a Prince.

He stepped in front of the mirror and practiced looking arrogant, and turned his nose so high he almost fell backwards on his butt. Blushing, he regained his balance and decided he needed more practice. But he didn't get the time, as his servant knocked on the door again, telling him that he was there to help him get ready for the feast. Harold felt a slight thing of panic.

"W...what should I wear?!" He said, flinging his closet open. Staring at the large room that served as his closet, he felt like crying. There was just so many clothes in it! And all of them much nicer than anything he'd ever owned before in his life!

Harold was terrified of disappointing his new parents, and from the sheer amount of times that Sigvald had managed to get lost in his own reflection, just during a simple tea, he realized his father cared very much about how he looked...and how everyone and everything else looked. What if he picked the wrong outfit?! Would his father hate him? he felt tears welling up in his eyes at the thought.

"How about this, your highness?" The lilac haired maid asked, holding up a deep purple tunic, lined with gold and fastened with a golden belt around the waist.

"Mmh... Okay!" Harold said, beaming up at the servant, before tugging at the dark blue one he was currently wearing.

"Let me help you with that, my Prince." The maid said, quickly rushing to gently pull the tunic over the young highness' head, and help him into the new tunic, carefully fastening the belt and adjusting it to be just right.

"Thank you." Harold said, still unused to someone else helping him with his clothes.

"Sit on the bed, and I'll help you with your boots." The maid continued, smiling at the adorable little boy. He would quickly grow tired of thanking the servants for doing their job, but it was not in her place to tell him.

"Is the neck supposed to be this wide? And why is the back open? Should the arms really be this short? And why are they cut up? Are the arms broken?" Harold asked, eying the slit on each arm exposing the skin.

"Don't worry, your highness. Everything is exactly as it should be." She smiled at him as he tried to turn to see why his back felt so...exposed.

"Oh, alright then." Harold said, only a little unsure about this outfit. But everyone in the Palace was dressed strangely, so maybe it was normal here. He'd never worn tunics before he entered the Rift, as his Father called it, so he wouldn't know.

The maid carefully combed out his hair, before tying it back with a black velvet band. It had grown quite a bit since his adoption ritual and during the whole journey. It was strange, but his hair had never grown at a normal rate, and even regrown over night one time, when his aunt had nearly shaved him bald.

"All that is lacking now..." The servant eyes the little Prince, before opening his jewelry drawer and pulling out a purple and gold necklace that depicted what looked like a crescent moon facing up, with a line underneath it ending in a circle at the bottom, that had a crescent moon halfway covering the circle facing down; The Symbol of Slaanesh.

She also fitted his arm with a golden serpent-shaped band that ran around his arm several times in a loop, ending in a pointed tail, with purple gems for eyes.

"And just a dash of..." She trailed off, picking up a perfume bottle from a shelf, sniffing it, putting it down, and picking up another. "...this." She said and sprayed the air above his head, making him sneeze as the heady, musky scent rained down in a tiny droplets over his head.

"Perfect!" She exclaimed, as she lead the little prince to stand in front of the mirror.

"Woa... Is it really me?" Harold exclaimed, reaching out to touch his reflection in the mirror.

The last time he had seen his own reflextion, he looked like a nobody, in an oversized, discolored shirt, with hair sticking out in a way no amount of combing could make lay flat. He had looked grey and dull and sickly thin. Like he was fading away.

Now he looked like a somebody!

His hair was nearly reaching his shoulders, and tied up in an artistocratic fashion. The purple and gold tunic was matched by gold-laced roman sandals, and the jewlery gleamed in the light.

His eyes gleamed in an eerie emerald green, almost unnaturally so, and sparkled with the joy he felt, and the air around him was perfumed with a strange and exotic scent that spoke of luxury and desire, in sharp contrast to his small, youthful stature. His skin was stil pale, but more naturally so, and not so much like someone who rarely saw the sun.

He looked aglow with delight!

"Thank you..." He whispered, unsure who he was speaking it to. His wonderful father, whom had made all this happen. His Mother, whom accepted him so compleatly, despite knowing nothing about him. Or the maid and all the servants that had made all this possible, whom rushed to fufill his every wish and whim, no matter how outrageous.

Yes... Harold, son of Sigvald was happy in all the ways the abused little Harry was not.

* * *

Harold looked nervously up at his father, as he walked slowly between him and his Mother. The music that was playing as they entered the great banquet hall was an eerie, haunting tune, that somehow managed to seduce the senses, yet didn't seem to be played on any wholesome instrument at all. It managed to be both darkly seductive, and grand and royal, all at the same time.

Clouds of scented smoke wafted towards them from the hall, tantalizing the senses and exiting the mind. Harold smiled as he recognized the sweetly spiced perfume of incense. It calmed his nerves, and his mind touched lightly upon the familiar memory of the hotel he had stayed it when he first met his Father. It had a heady scent of lilies clinging to them, which for some reason caused a strange feeling of warmth and nostalgia in the young Prince.

The music echoed towards them from the brightly lit hall ahead of them. Harold didn't recognize the instrument, for he had never before heard harps playing, and these harps were a marvelous and sinister creation all to themselves, and they were playing a sinuous elusive melody. It was hauntingly beautiful. Harold wished he could close his eyes and let the music envelop him with pleasure, but he had to walk on to keep up with his Father.

The cathedral-like room ahead of them were lined with tiered, scalloped balconies, and ranks of fluted columns divided it into a series of arcades.

The walls and ceilings were made of polished, white marble, crowned with elaborate golden cornices. And between each of the columns hung crystal chandeliers, each the size of a stagecoach and shimmering with hundreds of candles. The flames pulsated with a multitude of different colors, washing over the crowd of strangely bewitching creatures clad in the finest iridescent silk and sparkling brocades, revealing the strangeness of the costumes;

Towering masks of plumed feather and wings of scarlet silk, all trailing through the smoke in almost perfect synchrony. Above them the balconies were filled with crowds of musicians, playing instruments of such strange designs that the looked more like elongated limbs rather than pieces of brass and wood.

The Decadent Host moved around elegantly, mingling like a swarm of brightly colored fish gleaming in the sunshine, they reminded him of a kaleidoscope he had once snick a peak in when his cousin wasn't looking. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and just a little bit eerie and sinister.

As Harold stared at the gaping with wonder, he realized that not all of the lights were fixed in one place; dozens of birds were flitting around the room, swooping and diving in frenetic bursts, and trailing tiny lanterns from their tail-feathers.

Beyond the crowd there was raised a dais and a throne. The room was so long, and the smoke so thick, that Harold struggled to make out the throne in any details. It didn't matter anyway, as they were currently headed towards the front of the room, further away from the Throne and it's vast dance-floor, to a row of luxuriously fitted tabled of dark oak, it's legs carved into delicate, salacious shapes, and covered in a luscious crimson tablecloth, pooling across the table like spilled wine.

It was decked out in gold and crystals, and each chair resembled a small throne in and of itself, with soft, voluptuous cushions on the seat and back in the same dark color as the table, and outlined in gold.

As they entered the hall, every single person in the room turned against them, as they stood there, each behind their chosen chair at the table. All in various states of joy, bliss an inebriation as they beamed up at their beloved leader and his family.

Sigvald beamed benevolently down at them, his golden hair and polished

"My dearest friends!" He cried, throwing his arms open to the motley assortment of creatures, and lightening up the room with his dazzling smile. "This is a great moment! A glorious us moment!" He turned to place both hands on his son's shoulders and pushed a very nervous, very adorable young boy in front of him.

"My son!" He declared, his voice filled with what could easily be mistaken for fatherly pride. "The Gilded Palace finally has a Heir! One that will ensure this place with continue being a safe-haven for all creatures seeking refuge from the cruel world, and carry on the glorious feasts and festivities in the name of our beloved Dark Prince!" His charming smile and his son's natural charm of innocence as he practically glowed with pleasure and love eventually won over the Decadent Host, until they all got swept up in a wave of mad cheering and applauding for the young Prince.

Oh, there were many whom were jealous when he was first introduced. But those few of them that had traveled with Sigvald to the new world had been won over, even charmed, by the beauty and the innocence of the young boy. And what corrupted creature could ever resist the charm of the innocent? And the tantalizing idea of corrupting said innocence?

And so they cheered, and leered. And the rest of the Host got swept up in the madness of crowds, and the overwhelming joy and acceptance that were so freely given, and seemed to radiate outwards from this young child.

Why... He could be no older than seven or eight summers... he was certainly not competition for his father's lovers. And his looks showed great promise...which made certain of those with a distinct taste for younger things ecstatic with pleasure at the mere thought of the delicious possibilities...

And in the midst of it all, Harold stood. With his father's hands on his shoulders, and the acceptance of every person...creature...in the whole room. Many of the far more deserving of the title 'freak' than he had ever been himself. He had never felt so accepted in his life! Or so normal. This, he thought, this was his real family!

Once Sigvald had taken his seat at the throne-like chair at the top end of the table, with Harold to his right and his wife to the left of him, only then did all the others take their seat at the table.

The Decadent Host was perhaps one of the most informal Courts that had ever existed, but they worshiped their Prince with a devotion that bored on fanaticism. His word was law, and showing him the same respect as most would a god was both expected and viciously enforced.

Sigvald himself barely even noticed, but they loved him all the more for it.

To think... Such a gracious and benevolent leader they had. To allow his humble servants to do whatsoever they pleased... It made them even more determined to to show him the utmost respect and reverence, and all the more desperate to please him and win his favor.

Sigvald smiled benevolently at the Host as they all feasted to their hearts content. The table that had been decked out with everything from whole roasted boars to delicate presented pheasant pied under a cover of their own feathers and shaped to appear as if the bird was still alive. It's brilliantly colored tail feathers were on display, and shining in the soft light from a thousand birds flying overhead, each with a small lantern attached to their tail.

As the party got louder, and more wine than food was consumed, Sigvald too the napkin off his shoulder and placed it on his plate. A signal for his servants to begin removing the plates in the next few minutes.

And as the Court always had their Prince somewhere in their mind, just in case he might need them, immediately recognized the sign of the feast wrapping up, and hurriedly finished their own meals, just in time for the servants to come in and replace the lavish feast with an equally lavish dessert.

Fruits flown in from the far east and south, beautifully decorated pastries and rare chocolates were brought in and placed onto the table, making his son nearly groan at the fact that he had eaten so much at the main course.

Sigvald smiled and poured himself a glass of of sweet, fruity wine that he had, with some effort, brought back from Harold's home world for his own personal consumption, having fallen in love with it's rich flavor.

"What's that?" Harold said, staring at the golden liquid slowly swirling in the crystal glass.

"It's a desert wine. One of the better brands of Tokaji wine from your old home-world. Royal Tokaji, fit for a King." Sigvald smiled at his son and took a slow sip, closing his eyes and savoring the taste.

The golden drops slipped across his tounge like silk, leaving behind a sweetness of ripe fruit on a summer's day.

"A good year." A blissful smile playing across his sweet lips.

"I want some! Can I have some Father?" Harold asked. The blissful look on his father's face made him believe it must be something truly amazing. Something wonderful and beyond imagination, like the nectar of the gods.

"Of course you can! You can have anything you want!" Sigvald shot a dazzling grin down at his son.

Harold reminded Sigvald of himself when he was younger. Always so greedy to try new things, always hungry for more, more, more! His greedy hands reached for the goblet, and his emerald eyes shone with pleasure and curiousness.

Sigvald picked up another gold-lined crystal goblet, and expertly poured some honey-sweet wine into it. Before his clever hands held it out it towards his eagerly waiting son.

"Are you sure you should let a child have wine?" Oddrùn's admonishing voice inquired carefully.

Harold was taking to the lavish libertinesque lifestyle a little too well for his liking. He feared the child would become just as lost to the wicked pleasures as his long time friend was. He just hoped the little one wouldn't end up selling his soul for it... like his father did.

"When I was his age, I got a goblet-full for dinner every day. I doubt it'll hurt him." Sigvald waved it off and laughed at Oddrùn's strange protectiveness of the boy. His old friend and chancellor needed to loosen up and have some fun.

"That was watered down. You're serving him undiluted wine." Oddrùn protested weakly.

"It's more fun this way!" Sigvald grinned brightly and turned to his son, and in him saw his own image, young and innocent again.

"I know I would have loved to have it when I was his age." He muttered and paused, not entirely sure he remembered his own childhood anymore. It was hazy, rough around the edges.

The colors in his mind's eye blurred and twisted and slipped his grasp like summer sand. And he didn't like thinking about it. So he brushed the darker thoughts away, feeling suddently irritated at Oddrùn for making him go there.

"My father was always limiting me. I won't be like him! What my son wants, my son gets!" Sigvald suddenly burst out, his eyes alight with a fierce flame. Harold just cheered as his father filled his goblet yet again. He had never felt so loved and well cared for in his life!

It seemed strange to him that Sigvald cared about anyone other than himself, but he supposed Harold looked exactly like him...only his beautiful emerald eyes and raven hair was different. And the sunny joy lighting his eyes was quite unlike Sigvald's own darkly burning gaze, and captivating in it's own, sweet, angelic way.

But now there was a new glow, as the child basked in his newfound pleasure and his father's love.

And Oddrùn's eyes darkened as he watched the glowing gems swirling like absinthe, lighting up and burning with yet another flame of passion as Sigvald offered his son another sinfully dark treat. Then another. And another. In a never-ending spiral of excess and delight.

He sometimes wondered if Sigvald was trying to regain his humanity by living vivaciously through his son. But he was still convinced that it was never a good idea to give a child everything he desired...just look at where Sigvald ended up.

At least Sigvald's father tried to stop him when he went entirely TOO far. What would happen to a child who was never told 'no' at all?

But Sigvald merely smiled and urged the child on as he tested each and every limit. And as the feast went on, and the wine went to his head, he started to act more and more demanding, trying to find where the limit went when someone would say 'stop'. But even as he made the Court dance, sing, and jump with joy for just being chosen to humiliate themselves for their Prince's pleasure, it became more and more obvious to Harold that there seemed to be no limits existing. No limits at all...

* * *

Severus Snape was muttering to himself under his breath. And to think he thought the bloody Potter brat would end up a spoiled brat, just like his trice-damned father!

If only it had been that easy. He silently cursed Dumbledore for every decision the old goat had ever made, and was secretly wondering if this was another one of the old man's convoluted plans that would ultimately make his life even more of a living Hell than it already was.

Just for good measures, he cursed every single choice he had ever made in his entier life up to this point, before pointing his wand at the door and unlocking it, his potion-stained and scared hands pushing the door open rather roughly.

"Get out, get out!" Petunia screeched and shut the door in the face of the greasy-haired potions master for the tenth, and final time, locking it after him. Dear heavens he was persistent! Wanting to snoop and know every tiny little detail. What a horrible man!

"Dudley!" She yelled, as soon as the annoying freak had left.

"What?!" Dudley said grumpily, slowly stomping down from his room.

"Pack your bags, sweetie. We're going on a family vacation. And didn't you always want to move closer to London? All the really fun things are in the city you know. All the best stores and everything. Just think of how fun that would be!" Petunia put on a stiff smile for her son.

"Really?!" Dudley sounded exited for a moment, before he suddenly got unsure. "But what about my friends?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. They can visit you on weekends. And you'll be living together most the year at Stonewalls anyway. Don't worry about it, just hurry up and pack all your favorite things. Mommy will make sure the moving company takes care of everything else." Petunia said and kissed her dearest dudleykins on the head, before he scampered off upwards to his room, looking pretty exited at the prospect. No doubt he was envisioning going to some gaming arcades or other playground. The big city was also so exiting for a child.

She hurried over to the phone and started dialing her husband's number. She really hoped he still had the number to those sketchy looking foreigners that had come by snooping a few months ago. She hoped they weren't in the mafia or anything.

You just couldn't trust foreigners, with all their fancy gold-decorated clothes and weird customs. But she was desperate. And once Vernon learned of this, she knew he would be just as desperate to get away as she was.

The only thing worse than a potentially criminal foreigner was a wizard.

* * *

"Why isn't there a Throne for my son?!" Sigvald's voice rose in shocked outrage.

"I asked for it to be made yesterday! Why isn't it made?!" Sigvald picked up the nearest object, his wine glass, and threw it at the people he perceived as the culprits behind this outrageous negligence. The servants shrank away, taking cover behind whatever they could find to escape their capricious Master's fit of rage. Even the Decadent Host hesitated coming too close when their beloved Lord had one of his famously dangerous fits.

"My Prince, please forgive them. The Dark Dwarfs are working as fast as they can, but it takes time. The gems you demanded...," Oddrùn tried to placate his old friend, knowing nobody else would dare to tell him the truth.

"This is unacceptable! Call Hèika! Make him conjure one or something! My son needs a Throne!" Sigvald crossed his arms and tapped his leg, while glaring at Oddrùn. Honestly! What outrageous negligence!

"I'll fetch him, sire!" A solemn looking knight in a strange armor spoke up, before quickly rushing off to find the sorcerer. He cursed the damned Dark Dwarfs to the Abyss and back for not calling in help and getting it done faster. Damn their pride!

"It's okay, Father...," Harold said, staring at his father. His eyes wide as he clutched the Throne Chair he had been hiding behind, ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. Sigvald turned his eyes to his son, and was taken aback by the fear he saw in his eyes. A fear that only increased as Sigvald rushed towards him.

"Oh, son!" Sigvald bent down and threw his arms around him, pulling him closer in a tight beer-hug. "You've done nothing wrong!" He exclaimed. His hand stroking down his son's hair, before coming to rest on his neck.

"But..." Harold wasn't sure what to say. His little heart was still beating rapidly in his chest, but the horrible nauseating feeling had suddenly turned soft and warmed, and tears of relief threatened to escape his tightly closed eyes as he wrapped his small arms as far around his father as they could go.

"Oh, how could they do such a thing to such a precious young thing as you?!" Sigvald said and leaned back a little, looking at his son with a sad smile. Harold felt his heart beat faster. Had his Father been angry...for his sake?!

His cute little mouth fell open and his eyes sparkled like tiny stars, and then he hugged his father tightly again. Nobody had ever stood up for him before. Never gotten angry on his behalf. Never thought he was worth anything at all! And now he was getting his own throne!

"My own throne," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

"Do you see what you've done now!" Sigvald demanded, glaring at his still covering servants. "How could you do this to a child!" His voice caught in his throat, choking up a little. And paired with the look of horrified disapproval that Sigvald now send them had even the most obstinate servant suddenly feel horribly ashamed of themselves.

He was right. They should have worked harder. Maybe bartered for some horses, and send for help. They couldn't help but stare at the small child hugging their Prince. The tears that glistened on the lids of his closed eyes. That pained expression that only their Prince seemed to be able to sooth...

"W..We're terribly sorry, sir. You Majesty." The Dark Dwarf's head hung low, and his hand twitched as he twisted his beard. "I..I'll never 'appen again. We... We're gonna send to the materials as quick as a dragon, sir! We promise!" He said, and he meant it.

"Dragon..." Sigvald muttered and stood up. Suddenly lost in through, before he snapped his fingers and turned around with a big grin plastered on his face.

"Of course! That's the solution to everything!" He laughed joyfully and picked his son up and twirled him around, making him giggle and squeal happily.

"A dragon..."

* * *

*I have used ALOT of research for the historical accuracy of how a Prince might live in such a castle (and some ideas from Versailes to fill inn some of the details for the decorations, living quarters and general behavior of a court devoted to their Prince,) apparently the King even had a servant to hand them their version of toilet-paper (Henry the 3'd), the 11 rooms for one person (Louis the 14'th - the Sun King's mistress) and every other amusing notion. Although, of course, I go by the book Sigvald the Magnificent, and whatever else I have been able to find from reliable Warhammer resources, to stay as close to the canon as possible.

I may not use all the info in this one chapter, but I have a lot of info that'll show up throughout the story that may seem ludicrous, and, believe me, the crazier it sounds, the more like it is to have happened at one point in history or other. And for luxury services in the modern world, they still exist. Not saying more just yet. lol

Enjoy~


	5. A Very Slaaneshi XMass

A short Xmass interlude at the Gilded Palace. Don't worry, it won't be long now before Harold is off to see the Wizard, the wonderful wizard of...er...Hogwarts. *Chuckles*

Happy Hedonismass~!

* * *

"No, no, no! The golden garland goes over there! No, the thing that looks like a fluffy rope!" Sigvald yelled, he looked almost ruffled in his frustrations of getting this New World crissymassy thing in order.

Vigdis covered a small smile with her dainty hand and held back a chuckle. It was moments like this that reminded her why she still loved him, despite all his flaws. There was something almost child-like about his passion, even if his passions usually ran towards things that no child should ever see or hear about. Nor any adult, for that matter.

It didn't escape her notice that he seemed to lavish attention on their new child to a degree that most children would find suffocating. But Harold seemed to revel in every moment of attention. It was as if he'd never experienced anyone caring for him before. And he also, very clearly, had no expectations of any freedom to be on his own or play with friends.

It made her heart ache for him. And that made her go along with whatever madness her capricious husband was planning for the child. If only to see his young face light up with that brilliant smile of his. The one that made his eyes shine with joy, like the most brilliant gems.

She looked around the banquet hall and sighed, before hoisting up her skirt and walking over to fix the drapes so that they hung right. Then she quickly walked over to move a glass that were almost a while half-inch off from it's correct position. Really! You couldn't trust servants to do anything right!

Harold slowly emerged from underneath his soft big pelts and stretched catlike. His very first teddy bear was still nestled tightly in his small arms.

The nightmares he had used to have had slowly vanished as the years passed, and had now been replaced by wonderful dreams of all the wonderful things he had said and done...and what he wanted to do.

Like recreate that world where everything was made of candy that he just dreamed of! And fly his new dragon! The one his father had finally managed to locate and capture nearly a year ago!

A small smile graced his lips as he recalled all the amazing things that had happened to him ever since his Father rescued him from those horrible slavers. Every single day he thanked Slaanesh that his father had found him, and prayed that he would never, ever have to go back to such a horrible place.

He happily kissed his teddy before he carefully placed him on his nightstand. Then he suddenly let out a small gasp and quickly rose up to ring the bell string next to his bed for his servant.

Today was a special-day!

Father had told him that he would have a super special surprise for him today! And he knew it wasn't letting him join a real battle, something he'd been asking him about since he was 7. He was too old enough! ...but his father had promised it would be almost as special!

Harold just couldn't get up fast enough to see what the surprise was!

Harold almost vibrated with excitement as the manservant rushed in, hurried by the quick, repeated chiming. It had been an indication that his young Master wished him to hurry. Or at least that he was terribly impatient.

"Djakre! Hurry up! Father has a surprise for me!" he commanded the second the door cracked open. Before he threw the heavy furs and soft linens on the bed aside, so as to allow his Valet to put the leather slipper-socks onto his feet, so he could step into his morning robe.

As the female bathing servants washed his body with exotic sponge-like tings he didn't really know what was, he marveled at how his bath water always was ready. And how it was always hot, no matter when he woke up.

It was uncanny how every single one of his servants seemed to know and predict his desires almost before he even realized what he wanted himself. Then he blushed slightly as the girl's washcloth strayed a bit too far south for him to be entirely comfortable with it. But it did feel nice tho... In a weird way.

His father had said it was perfectly normal. He was a prince after all, and should expect and everyone to serve his needs and desires, joyfully. And Harold wanted more than anything to be normal! To do the right things! And to have his father love him.

So he persevered. And, as the years passed by, he got used to it. He even began to enjoy it. It felt good, being taken care of so gently. Even if it was by naked women whose hands ever so often touched his embarrassing no-no parts.

What he was sure he'd never get used to, was the old man that was handing him freshly washed linen pieces when he sat perched precariously high up on the loo.*

He had blatantly refused to let him wipe his butt. There was limits!

Harold had curiously looked down into the hole in the loo once. Wondering where it all went, since there was no water and no way to flush.

But all he could see down there was the eternal snow, deep underneath the Palace. But it was so terribly far down that it was almost invisible to the naked eye. He could vaguely make out the jagged cliffs far, far beneath it tho...

He had been so terrified of falling into it after that, that his father had decided to order someone make him a child sized seat to sit on. Which had made it a little bit less scary. But it was not nearly enough!

He cast aside the disturbing thoughts and focused on the day ahead. Just like his father always suggested he did.

And that's when he remembered that he had no classes today!

No more boring etiquette with the old, undead...slightly smelly etiquette teacher, or difficult magic formulas from Heika to learn. No more grueling hard workout session with his fencing teacher, or embarrassing defeats by his close-combat teacher. No more wracking his brain to learn strategies or the art of manipulation. No school at all! Not today!

That thought made him grin from ear to ear.

* * *

As Harold stepped through the doors to his quarters, -he barely even noticed the manservant that opened them for him nowadays- he had to rub his eyes in disbelief. ..and maybe the early onset of an epileptic attack from all the blinking lights.

"Wha...?" the young prince stated eloquently, his mouth falling open with shock and surprise. He wasn't sure where to look first.

The gold! The glitter! The multicolored light-bulbs that had to be fueled by magic, because he knew for a fact that this place had no such thing as electricity.

"How the...? Is that a reindeer?!" he squealed, his voice rose a few notches. Several reindeer! Wait! Did this place even have reindeer?!

"I know. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to capture and train them all. Not to mention the transportation..." a somber voice by his side said.

As Harold turned, he noticed a tall woman. With her dark brown hair and slightly tanned skin, she looked almost human. If it hadn't been for the pointy ears and the slight violet tint of her blue eyes.

Of course, he had seen her eat, and her tongue... such a long, twisted thing had never rested seen in a human being before, he was sure of that! Not even in the mouth of a Dark Elf, which he knew she was. At least half-way was. Nobody knew who her father was.

Instead of nails, she had claws, sharp and deadly as her tongue. And the speed and skill she wielded her half-moon-shaped dark short-blades was nothing short of inhuman. He had heard she would use her tongue in a whip-like fashion in battle, but he had never seen it himself. He briefly wondered how that would work.

Still... she was an amazing fighter, and Harold really, really admired her for it. As well as the way she could reduce a man to tears with her sharp comments and acidic remarks.

Of course, right now her hands were covered in elegant, black gloves, that ended in a triangular shape halfway up her arms. It matched perfectly the puffed out purple and gold sleeves of what appeared to be a very indecent jester outfit. While her front was more or less covered, a diamond-shaped hole exposed most of her back. And that was not even going into the design of her tights.

"Darla!" Harry said and spun around to hug her. She reached a gloved hand out to indulgently pat his head, the way someone whom normally abhors children would.

"Harold..." the tall dark elf sighed. "I am your bodyguard. Not your nanny! And my name is Dar'Slaa" she said exasperated. Which lasted for a full five seconds before she cracked a small smile.

The Dark Elf didn't much care for children, but the young prince was an exception to that rule. He was also surprisingly mature for his age, compared to the other children she had guarded.

Harold could be very mature when he wanted too, more and more as time passed and his training increased. But at other times he was the most adorable child on the planet. Really... He took after his father in every way.

He even looked like him, aside from those hauntingly green eyes. And right now, those rare gems were looking up at her with the most adorably sweet puppy-dog expression.

"But Darla... Don't you like crismas?" he said with faux hurt, his voice quivering ever so slightly. Damned those 'people skills' lessons of his! Manipulative little brat!

"I don't know this "crissymass". My people only celebrate Death Night, not this foolish human nonsense," she said, using a gloved hand to hold up a particularly gaudy bauble of what appeared to be father crismas...if a multicolored unicorn had eaten him up and shat him out...repeatedly. Harold vaguely wondered where the heck his father had gotten that piece...

"But...but...presents!" Harold said. "The candy! The cakes! The pudding! The he 3 layered chocolate yule logs!" Harold looked around him, as if he suddenly realized something.

"Quick! We must get to the Hall before the Decadent Host eats it all!" he said, his voice rising in a desperate pitch. It was absolutely adorable. But Darla barely allowed the thought to grace her mind, before she rushed after him. She would not forget that her duties were to protect the young prince at any cost! She would trust no one!

Sigvald had once saved her from a pack of Witchunters. She could never forget that. And she could never hope to repay his generosity. A life debt was a very serious thing to her people. Her life was his unto death!

And really... His son picked up combat skills with a determination and drive she had only ever seen in Dark Elf children before him. He would become every bit as great as his father someday, and she would be right by his side as it happened. Her loyalty would be rewarded tenfold. She was sure of it!

* * *

The first thing that caught Harold's eyes when he stepped into the banquet hall was the gigantic evergreen tree. It had to be at least a hundred feet tall! And it glittered and shone with the lights of a hundred little lanterns. Eached glowed with an eerie purple flame. No doubt Heika's doing.

The traditional decoration looked like it had come off an old fashioned crismas card, except instead of glitter, the baubles were decorated with gold and jewels. Black, red, pink and white diamonds shone in the light. Handcrafted chocolate resembling animals and fairies of pure gold hung from the branches. And was those heavily hung apples made of solid gold?

Harold stared in awe. He could see jewelry hung on the branches, and what looked like some -very- expensive cognac hung from the lower branches, undoubtedly supported by magic to even carry this much weight.

"Louis XIX Champagne Cognac" he read on the label.

As he got closer he realized that what he had taken for snowy icicles hanging down all around the tree was in fact thousands upon thousands of tiny little diamonds, shimmering like little snowflakes. All strung together in a precise way to make it resemble snow. The effect was breathtaking!

At the top of the majestic tree perched a star unlike anything he had ever seen!

Framed in gold and fitted with diamonds all around, as well as displaying one surprisingly large diamond in the very center of it. The star even had something that looked very much like the eight-pointed symbol of chaos united behind it all in white gold or platinum! It was beyond words.

And much like the Gilded Palace, it resembled a real star. Suspended on such a thin, long edge that it seemed to be impossibly suspended in the sky. Floating just above the top of the tree itself.

Everywhere he looked; Emeralds! Sapphires! Pearls! All manners of precious stones decorated the opulent tree to the point it was a miracle it didn't topple over from the sheer weight of it all. Even with magic! Even the tree stand looked covered in diamonds.*

But it was what he saw behind and around the tree -surrounding it in an impressive tall stack considering the large circumference of prodigious tree- that truly got his attention.

Presents!

Some were taller than himself. Wrapped in great, silk covered boxes. While others were small envelopes, or stranger shapes that it must have been incredibly difficult to wrap up in anything resembling paper. And, even more exiting, they all bore his name!

"Is this... Is it...?" Harold felt a big hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the sapphire blue eyes of his father. At the moment they were shining with mischievousness an almost childish joy.

"They're all yours son."he smiled down at the adorable, amazed face. "To make up for all the missed birthdays and crissy masses." he said, chuckling at bit at his own pun. He decided to take Harold's misunderstanding that he was his real father and run with it. He found himself really liking the idea of having a son. Someone to shape and spoil rotten. To give everything he wanted as a child, yet never got. Someone to mold in his image!

It was really quite a power-trip. An immensely pleasurable one. And that was even without mentioning the child's constant gratitude.

"Oh, thank you-thank you-thank you!" Harold grinned and flung himself at his dad. Sigvald smiled and returned the hug, quite pleased with himself. He, himself, really was amazing. Always making all the right choices as he did.

It had taken several trips to the New New World, and more than a few raids to overthrow minor dwarf kingdoms and raid an elven one, but it was well worth it.

He felt the child's innocent pure joy almost as if it had been his own. He decided to not linger on just why that was so important to him.

"Now come join your mother and I for breakfast. The Court will be busy decorating for the next few days, and I have quite the day planned out for you." Sigvald said smiling, draping his hand around his son's shoulders to lead him to the table.

"Can I play with my dragon today?! You promised me he would be tamed soon!" Harold begged between two spoonfuls of chocolate cream.

"We...will check by it and see." Sigvald said, hesitating only a bit. As it turns out, not only were Dragons resistant to magic, but they were bloody difficult to tame as well. But the trainer had made great progress. He was now very, very close to breaking the beast, and it should be a good toy for his son before the week was out. Sigvald was quite sure of it.

"But first things first." Sigvald said, attempting to distract his son's attention away from the dragon.

"What would you feel about watching your very first battle?" he said, excitement creeping into his voice.

"Just to watch it, mind you! You're not quite old enough to join in." Sigvald quickly added. He felt uncharacteristically protective of the boy. Harold was such a pleasure to have around, and he really didn't want to loose that.

"Rally?! Can I?! Really?!" Harold was at this point nearly bouncing in his seat, his pudding* all but forgotten.

He knew his skills with the sword, or even in close combat, which he had just started to learn from Darla, wasn't good enough to join a fight yet. But it always sounded like so much fun from how the court talked about it!

Oh the stories they'd tell! How brave, how noble, and, oh, how heroic his father was! The court would go on and on about it with a glazed look in their eyes...especially the women. And Harold could hardly wait to see it for himself!

"Finish your food Harold. I expect your father will keep you very busy until the feast tonight. And knowing him, he'll forget to feed you." Vigdis admonished him, ignoring Sigvald's frown as she spoke.

Her husband might not want the child to be limited in any way, but she knew how important it was for a child to have someone who reminded him to take care of himself. She couldn't help but smile gently as she turned back to her own soup. They were both such children sometimes.

Harold blushed and hurried to finish up his plate, then grabbed a few sticks of bread to push into his pockets. He didn't really feel like food after all the sweets he had just eaten, but he still remembered how horrible it was to go hungry, and he had sworn to himself to never let that happen again.

"Okay! I packed lunch. Now can we go?!" he asked impatiently. His father merely laughed indulgently and stood up, wiping his mouth with the napkin, before dropping it to his plate for the servants to clean.

"Of course, Harold. I'm sure that will hold you until tea time." Sigvald glanced at his wife, whom was just about to open her mouth -no doubt in protest- and he let out a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm sure your mother will feed you when we get back. Even she can't complain about that." Sigvald said, glaring at his wife. This time it was Vigdis was the one that sighed.

"Of course, dear. But do keep him out of the range of anything dangerous!" she said, a note of worry creeping into her regal voice.

She gave Sigvald a stern look that promised pain and suffering should he fail to protect their precious little gem. It was enough to make even the great king Sigvald wince. He had been on the wrong side of her anger before, and she was almost as bad as him...maybe even a bit worse. And unlike him, she never forgot.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Dar'Slaa will be right with him, to make sure nothing bad happens." Sigvald said and began to shove Harold out of the room. The child barely had time to kiss his mother's cheek before he was ushered away.

"And for the love of chaos, don't forget his furs!" she shouted at the rapidly closing door.

Vigdis sighed in defeat, casting one last glance at the door. They'd forget it. She just knew it!

* * *

Harold shivered slightly in the wind. It was terribly cold this far north, and the young prince mournfully wished he had brought his black wool cloak. The one with the warm, silver-grey wolf fur around the shoulders, and a beautiful golden clasp in the image of a serpent on it.

He quickly turns at the sound of a branch breaking, and spots a child that is roughly his own age over by the forest. Harold considering telling Darla, so she could warn his father, but it didn't look like the child noticed the small army that was hiding in preparation of an ambush.

Which was a good thing. His father would have hate to learn that a kid spoiled his surprise.

He glared over at the child, as he gathered up small pieces of wood in the forest, with a rising jealousy.

The boy looks to be around his age, and the thick, warm bear pelt he wore like a cloak would look even better on him, he was sure of it! And anyway, he was a Prince, right? His father kept telling him so. And he kept telling him he could have anything he wanted!

Harold's teeths were beginning to clatter in the cold, and Darla was still focused on keeping lookout for the enemy, nearly ten feet away.

He glanced over at his nanny...fine, his bodyguard. Surely she wouldn't mind him vanishing for just a few seconds. It wouldn't take long to get the kid agree to hand it over to him. And it wasn't like she'd even notice he was gone... Right?

* * *

"There you are, son! Did you see how we scattered the enemy and laied waste to their so-called army? Wasn't it glorious?! Wasn't it _exiting?!_ " Sigvald greeted his son cheerfully, wiping the blood of his beloved Sliverslash. His servants, in the meanwhile, swarmed around him and fussed over the few bloody stains on his clothes and face. They did not want to risk Sigvald noticing so much as a single stain on his pretty face, shuddering as they thought of the last time that had happened.

"It was!" Harold grinned widely, almost bouncing to hug his father. He had been so scared he would get hurt, but his father was amazing! Nobody could touch him, he moved like a lightning-strike! Then he suddenly reeled back.

"Wait! My new pelt will get dirty!" Harold said, the horror in his voice clear.

And he had not gone through a whole lecture just to get it dirty! And anyway, it wasn't his fault the other kid refused to give him the cloak and fought back! It was totally self-defense! Yes. Even the rock! Yes... Even the fact that he kept beating long after the kid stopped moving. It was totally the other kids fault! At least that's what Harold told himself.

There was a small, gnawing sensation in his stomach as he watched the blood of the other kid seep onto the white snow, but all he could think about now was how beautiful it had looked. And not creepy or bad in anyway. Definitely not. Nope. And totally justified! He nodded to himself to emphasize the agreement in his thoughts.

Death was a natural thing that happened to the weak. That's what his teachers always said. It was just how nature worked.

And it only happened because the other kid refused to give Harold what was rightfully his! That boy was totally undeserving of having such a nice fur coat. Kept whining about his mother making it for him and making it sound like she'd spent all her savings on it or something... he hadn't really been listening, and he didn't really care.

He still remembered how his blood pulsed with passion and desire and the need to have that fur-coat!

It had been exhilarating. And the pleasure he felt from obtaining it was indescribable!

The child's death seemed nothing in comparison to how wonderful -and not to mention warm- he felt when he wrapped it around his own shoulders. Like the touch of Slaanesh himself... It was absolutely amazing!

At least it was until Darla admonished him for going off without telling her. That had been far less fun.

And he still felt kinda bad about the other kid. But just a little! He was far more worried about anyone finding out about it. No matter what his teachers said, he was still worried how his parents might react to it. What his father would say.

He didn't think he could handle it if his father got angry with him, or worse; disappointed.

He quickly pulled himself together and grinned up at his beloved father again, pushing all the bad thoughts away for another day. It wasn't important like his daddy was!

"I loved the way you cut down those beast-like things. That was awesome!" Harold said, admiration shining in his eyes.

"That's just their helmets. Well. Mostly." Sigvald corrected him. "Come on, let's get out of the cold and have some food and mead brought out. I could eat a whole village right now!" Sigvald chimed cheerfully, carelessly tossing aside the rag he had been cleaning his hands with.

"Can I have mead too?!" Harold said excitedly.

"Of course son! Remember what I said? You can have anything you want. Always!" he smiled and patted his son's head.

Harold basked in his father's love, everything else forgotten for the pleasure of the moment.

"Nice cloak, by the way. Where did you get it? I know it wasn't from me." Sigvald said conversationally, placing his now clean hand on his son's back to lead him towards the tent.

"Weeeeeell..."

* * *

In the end, Harold had ended up telling an epic tale of how he killed a bear with his bare hands...and a rock. He silently thanked Slaanesh for reading all those fairy-tales and history books now.

A highly amused Sigvald listened to what he said, recognizing the same traits in his son's lies as he himself used to have back when he was new to it as well. He made a mental note to ask Dar'slaa to get the full story of it later tonight, but there was far more important things to do right now.

"Impressive how the pelt came off the bear in an already prepared and ready-for use state." Sigvald said, disguising a small chuckle as a cough.

"It...um...was a magic bear!" Harold said, then nodded seriously to himself, trying to keep a straight face. Inwardly he was cursing and made a decision there and then to make his teacher's teach him how to convincingly lie. He just hoped his father wouldn't notice!

"Ah, of course. Magic bears are of course an all too common problem. One never knows where they show up." Sigvald said, playing along.

Dar'slaa watched the exchange from the sidelines, and she felt both amused at the kid's clumsy attempts to lie, but also very proud that her charge and Prince had already killed his very first human at the tender age of only 9 winters. Most humans never kill anyone until they're at least 12 or 13 summers old. And even then it is usually an animal, not a human.

Although the humans in the north did seem to be far better warriors, and fighting in some kind of war or raid at age 13 was not uncommon. In the south they usually were at least 16 before they even considered it. And even then, many adults had never even seen battle. It was pathetic!

She was glad to see that Prince Harold would follow in the noble footsteps of his father in that aspect. He would be a strong Prince. Someone the people could rely on.

Perhaps she should up his training and give him his very own Karambit blade. Just one to start with, but the kid could easily get into trouble without a proper weapon and the knowledge of how to wield it.

"Better go get cleaned up for the feast tonight." Sigvald said, stroking Harold's long hair, marveling at the speed it had grown to the same, slightly past the shoulder's, length as he had his hair, and yet it somehow never grew past that.

"Okay, father." Harold said, before shouting for his manservant. Djakre was rarely very far away, but impressively good at melding into the tapestry when not needed. And admirable quality for a servant.

* * *

Washed and dressed in his best clothes, Harold joined his mother and father, before the family made their grand entrance through the gilded doors that Harold was sure were made just for this purpose.

A strange and haunting song that sounded eerily familiar to Harold was the very first thing to greet him as they got closer.

It slowly occurred to him that the Decadent Host were playing Deck the Halls... if Deck the Halls were being played on what he could only assume was some horribly tormented creatures, whom wailed and moaned in tune with the song. He knew what the piano was made of - he didn't even want to think about what the trumpets could be made of...

The tables were decked out in several layers of the finest linens available. All in red and green of course, to match the spirit of the holiday. But the candles were shining in a beautiful purple colors, reminding them all of their beloved god, Slaanesh.

Small pine trees of pure gold served as decorations around the various tables, seated in freshly made wreaths with pine-cones and magically preserved snow. At the top there was a gorgeous platinum star that was itself decorated with 4.5 karats of diamonds.

To add to the golden opulence, there was several small santa statues of pure gold as well. Although Harold thought it looked more like one of the dwarfs in a cartoon he had snuck a peak at that one time. Of course, it was standing on a roof with one foot down the chimney, jovial waving at you with the hand that didn't hold a huge bag of presents. That was a dead giveaway that it was Santa.

On the top table, the one reserved for the family, the table decoration was a decadent, preserved rose bush, shaped like a crismas tree. When Harold sat down and got a closer look, he could see that it was covered in hundreds of beautiful diamonds, glittering in the light.

"Is this for real..." Harold said, looking around himself with awe.

"Only the best for my son!" Sigvald stated, before clapping his hands to signal for the servants to bring out the food.

There was, of course, the traditional turkey, with all the traditional side-dishes. At least Harold assumed it was turkey. A big, gigantic mutant of a turkey. But a turkey non the less. It certainly tasted like one. And it was the most jucy, delicious turkey he had ever tasted! ...not that he's tasted many.

But the piece the la resistance was when the chef himself entered the hall, bringing with him a score-full of servants that set a glorious, almost pink-ish roast on the table. It seemed to nearly glow for all the layers of glace on it, and the scent was beyond divine.

Sigvald stood up and smiled like a benevolent King to his beloved people, spreading his arms wide as if to fawn them all with his love.

"The Hunters have been very diligent, providing us all with plenty of meat for this special occasion." Sigvald said. "Stand up and take a bow!" Sigvald lead his people in a thundering applause for the Hunter team.

"And we mustn't forget out wonderful chef! Hannibal! Stand up and take a bow!" he continued, once the first round of applause had died down, inciting an even more eager applause. He truly was the finest chef they had ever employed!

"What is it?!" Harry asked Hannibal eagerly, eyeing the mouthwatering roast.

"I call it... Lamb Azerbaijan." Hannibal said, grinning mischievously as he held his wine glass out in a toast to the Decadent Host, before sitting down to sip it.

The comment made every person in the room laugh, as if he had said something terribly funny, and Harold felt like he was missing out on an inside joke. He blushed slightly and looked over at his father.

"You'll get it later." he said, smiling as he carved a piece of roast for his son. He had noticed the same bewilderment on his face as most his guest got when this happened, it really was quite obvious what he was thinking.

"Now enjoy your meal. It is, after all, quite a wondrous occasion." Sigvald said with a mysterious smile. A smile that only got wider as he hungrily watched every movement of his son's face as it twisted into pleasure, to the point he almost moaned at the taste.

"So good~" Harold moaned. It had to be the best thing he had ever tasted!

"The first time is always the best..." Sigvald said, with a nostalgic smile on his face, before rising again.

"A toast!" he proposed, "To Pleasure! And to out generous Lord Slaanesh!"

The music and laughter filled the Hall, and Harold felt like his heart and soul would overflow with pleasure and joy. How could anything possibly top this?!

* * *

By the time young Harold finally made it to bed that night, he was feeling warm and full and just amazingly, amazingly good.

There was something magical about the whole day, especially that yummy Lamb Azerbaijan!

It wasn't something he could quite put his finger on. Was it the strange taste? Like a mixture of pork and beef, but with the consistency of chicken? Was it the spices? The secret sause of the chef that was more red than brown?

No... It was... it was something else. Something primal and raw. Almost an addictive quality to it.

All he knew was that now that he had tasted it once, he wanted more!

He held the teddy up for a moment, thinking with some hesitation on the incident with the bear pelt... the blood. The horrible, sticky mess... There was something nagging at the edge of his slowly withering morals, but he pushed it away.

He placed the bear on the chair next to the bed, and turned around, hugging his blanket. The winter pelt was soft and smelled nice, and he indulged with childish delight in rubbing his face against it, before slowly drifting to sleep, a content smile on his face.

* * *

The first thing Harold did next morning, once he remembered what day it was, was to toss off the warm furs and rush out of bed... only to realize that his room has a very cold stone floor.

"Djakre!" he shouted, rushing into bed to huddle under his warm furs again. Then he blushed and reached for the bell. The servants quarters were pretty far away, no way his servant could hear him from here.

But much to his surprise, Djakre walked in the door before he could even tug at the bell. Almost as if he'd been waiting outside the door... a little creepy, but definitely convenient, Harold decided.

"Your bath is ready for you, your highness." the servant said with slight bow, before helping the young prince into his morning clothes, so he wouldn't freeze on the way across the floor. Usually Harold thought it was redundant, when he would change clothes after his bath anyway, but after having experienced how cold his room was in the morning, he quickly changed his opinion. Totally necessary!

"Hurry up! My gifts are waiting!" Harold said excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat. He almost considered forgoing his usual bath, but he somehow still felt cold, and he supposed it was nice to be taken care of by the older girls. Now that he knew them better, he didn't feel quite as shy about as when he first came here. And lately he was starting to be a bit curious about the soft, squishy parts of the female anatomy that was clearly visible in the bath.

But despite all this, he finished his bath in record time, and nearly ran to the banquette hall to see what his mommy and daddy had gotten him for crismas.

* * *

It was a very tired-looking court that met them by the grandiosely decorated crismas tree that morning. Tired, but looking excessively pleased with themselves as well. Well... More than usual at least.

And the moment Harold's eyes fell on the opulent tree, he realized why.

Gifts! Stacked high around the tree, and wrapped in an wide variety of wrappings, ranging from silk and...was that diamonds?! ...to various types of fine paper, even a few clearly brought back from the New New World, to more modest dirt-brown rags of common cloth... likely from the various servants and slaves that Harold had charmed over the years. Not they could possibly have much to give.

Still, it delighted him to see that the great tree, with all it's glittering gems and trinkets, somehow seemed far smaller on account of the large stack of gifts.

"Don't just stand there. Open them!" Sigvald said, giving his son a small push on the back, He was curious to see the look of delight on his son's face as he opened the presents...as well as being a bit curious himself what they had all gotten him.

"Aren't you coming, father? Mother?" he looked back at his parents with a confused look. Surely the gifts was not just for him...right? Right?!

Sigvald laughed at the childish delight on Harold's face as he realized that, yes, they really were all for him!

And he felt himself touched by a strange, new sensation...all warm and cozy-like...as he watched his son open gift after gift. It was almost divine in its sweetness, and it made Sigvald want to show his son more and more pleasures, just to experience more of this intense, new sensation!

As the papers fell away, it revealed more and more opulent gifts. A cornucopia of luxury and riches, the likes of which even Sigvald would have been hard-pressed to compete with.

A bath-tub of solid gold. A small rocking horse of gold, with dark gems in it's eyes. A rubics cube made with precious gems, clearly a gift from his Strategy teacher. A teddybear with real gold in its fur and eyes made with sapphire and diamonds. Even it's mouth was crafted by a gold thread.

The teddy even came with a second gift; A wide range of carefully hand-stiched clothes, ranging from everyday wear for a prince, to a warrior outfit. He thought the tiny, very real sword it came it, adorable.

Soccer ball made with black and African diamonds, clearly for display purposes more than the sport.

A 24 karat gold mountain bike, the emblem on it encrusted with over 600 black diamonds and 500 golden saphiers.

And to top it all off; An exceptionally intricately made clockwork operated porcelain male doll of a bird tamer, dressed in Renaissance clothes that has real pearls and gold interwoven in their fabric. A new pair of shoes in the softest, highest quality leather, that laces up with real gold lacing.

Of course, that is not even mentioning the small island in the Caribbean, fitted with its own dock, and hosting a yacht that looked more like a small, livable island than a ship, and could probably keep several hundred people alive for a year when fully stocked... Courtesy of Sigvald, of course. Along with a multitude of other presents.

At the mention of the yacht however, half the court had cheerfully volunteered to be his crew-members. Shouting out how one was a famous pirate before he retired, another one captain of a small fleet...from there on the bragging became more and more outlandish, and Harold was liable to believe a good few of them were outright lies. Fighting the Kraken with his bare hands and swimming to shore, dragging the ship behind him by a rope between his teeth? Riiiight...

Harold made a point of gathering up all the cards to thank people in person later, in the hope it repeated itself next year. And also because it was polite. Even the shabby gifts from servants, like the homemade doll from the maid's daughter, and the box of cookies from the kitchen staff.

He really liked all the people in the castle, and he made a note to have gifts made for everyone himself too next year. He should tell his servants to remind him, that way he didn't have to think too hard about it himself. And do the shopping.

The best gift, however, it seemed like his father had saved for last. And as Harold stared in awe at the big box wrapped in a diamond-encrusted wrapping-paper... Swarafski crystals, Harold recognized them from the rocking-horse he had that was covered in them, the one with real horse hair... he was almost scared to tear it open like he had with the rest.

Ever so carefully he unfastened the paper and pushed it aside to see a fairly average sized wooden box.

The moment it came to light, Sigvald snapped his fingers, and a pair of dark dwarfs came forwards and tore the box open, to reveal a beautifully constructed child sized piano. Harold would bet anything that it was made from the most exclusive and expensive materials available.

Still... It seemed a bit...unusual for his father to give him something that was almost...common. He looked at his father, and his surprise must have shown on his face.

"Go on, son. Open the lid!" Sigvald said, looking very much like a child with a secret he was dying to tell. So Harold decided to do just that.

"Oh!" Harold gasped as he looked inside it. What he saw in there made his heart swell with joy, and arose a deeply rooted gratefulness towards both his beloved father, and his new god, Slaanesh.

A massive gold ring, with an impressively large ruby in the center, inscribed with the mark of Slaanesh, was lying on a velvet cushion inside of the grand piano. It even had a fitting gold chain through it, allowing Harold to wear it around his neck!

Harold's eyes teared up, and he quickly blinked them away. It reminded him of that wonderful day when he learned that his father was really his father, and that he accepted him whole-heartedly into the family.

It also reminded him of how it was a part of the initiation ritual for him to become a Slaaneshi, with all the blissful joy that entitled. And there had been such pleasures! He decided there and then to praise Slaanesh more often.

He smiled through the tears and ran to tackle his daddy in a bear-hug, burying his cute little face into his chest.

"Thank you dad!" he said, hugging his father even tighter, and relishing in the feeling of strong arms wrapping around him and hugging him back. It all made him all too aware of just how much he had lacked before, and how much he had gotten since, thanks to his father.

And his mother... he just remembered, before letting his father go to run and show his mother what he had gotten,

"Mother, look! Look!"

"It's beautiful darling," she said, smiling as she helped her son put the necklace on, then kissed his head.

She was a bit miffed that her own present had been lost in with all the other ones, and she really should have known that Sigvald would find some way to make himself look better than everyone else, but she was happy non the less.

Besides... The smile of joy as he went straight over to play with the rocking-horse she had given him -the one covered in swarafki crystals, with real horse hair and black diamonds for eyes- it warmed her cold heart.

"What a...charming way to grab attention," she told her husband, a hint of frost in her voice.

Sigvald simply smiled and held out a gift for her. She was shocked into silence at the unusually thoughtful gift from her husband.

"W..What?" her usually composed voice faltered just a little bit, and the frost melted away.

"Did you really think I would forget my beautiful queen? My sweet princess?" he said, his voice filled with such passion and warmth that it made her flush. It reminded her how he had tricked her into falling for him in the first place, that lousy scoundrel of a charmer.

It did not, however, stop her from eagerly taking it from his hands and gently shaking it, wondering what might be inside. She smiled as she peeled off the crystal-covered wrapping paper. She couldn't help it. She had always been weak for gems and riches.

"Oh, Harold!" she gasped as she opened the royal blue box inside of it, only to find the most exquisite necklace she had ever seen.

Fashioned from white gold embellished with tiny diamonds around the edges,

the necklace hanged heavy with large rubies in the shape of delicate droplets that increased in size as they went to the sides.

The bracelet that came with it, shaped in the same style, had square-cut rubies all around it, and it came with the most gorgeous droplet-shaped earrings to match the rest.

The craftsmanship of it was easily recognizable as elvish in nature, and she could only guess on how much work he must have put into acquiring such an exquisite piece.

"It was made for one of the high elf princesses." Sigvald said helpfully, before smiling his charming smile.

"They had tucked her away in some castle somewhere, but the moment I saw the drawing of it, I knew they were meant for you!" he kissed her, and she melted in his arms like she always did. Damned that charming scoundrel.

"I hate you." she said, smiling up at him. "Help me put them on."

"No you don't. You love me." Sigvald said, laughing. "Everyone does!" he grinned with an oh-so-attractive confidence. But he was not wrong. Everyone did love him. It was impossible not to.

Even his adopted son, she supposed, as she glanced over at the child that was bouncing from one toy to another, unable to decide what to play with.

She supposed she could forgive him their fight yesterday. Just this once.

"And don't think I have forgotten my wonderful, dear, dear friends!" Sigvald announced magnanimously, his arms open wide towards his Court, before turning towards the tree, glittering with gems and even jewelry.

"I give to you all of the wonderful trinkets and gems, and everything else on the tree! Please enjoy your wonderful new gifts, and then let us withdraw to the theater to see the brilliant, festive plays I have so generously put up for us all!"

He had barely finished before the court descended upon the poor, defenseless tree like a vicious pack of wolves. All clawing and kicking, and stepping on each-other to get the lions share of the gifts.

Oddrun merely sighed, sitting in his seat by his self-proclaimed King. He wondered how many casualties would stain his old friend's soul for the amusement of his son tonight. It didn't bare thinking of, but someone had to.

* * *

Sigvald watched as Harold laughed and clapped at the actors on stage. How he held his breath when the prisoners...er...actors... were engaged in a life or death sword-fight. And how he teared up when the grumpy old earl finally learned that the true meaning of crismas was Pleasure, and went to find his long lost love to fuck her.

"What did you think of the play?" he asked, curious to know his son's thoughts.

"It was amazing!" Harold breathed. "A Crismas Carol is totally my new favorite play!

"Oh, don't be so sure. Next up is a wonderfully violent play with lots of scary villains. And to top it of, the evil anti-crismas goat!" Sigvald grinned.

"My Prince..." Oddrun sighed and shook his head. He should have known telling him about this strange tradition they had in the New New World, that they called 'Crismas Horror'. He really should have...

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should go with 'Narnia' instead." Sigvald frowned. He didn't want his son to end up with nightmares, and Oddrun seemed incredibly sure that would happen if he let this play go on.

"How's the production of Narnia going? Have they managed to control the lion yet?"

"It's proven incredibly stubborn, my Prince. But they finally made a break-though and convinced Heika to enchant it. I think it should be fine." the tall hunchback said.

"Very well." Sigvald nodded. "Narnia it is people!" he commanded. He did frown as all his actors seemed to sag with relief. Now, really! Dying in a play to entertain his son and heir was a great honor! Could they not see that!

Oh, well... He was sure his son would love the epic battle at the end.

"Father, what was that about the lion?" Harold asked, unsure.

"Don't worry about it, son. Heika has it under control. Now be quiet and watch, it's starting." Sigvald said, shushing his son as the lights dimmed yet again for the new play.

* * *

"And then, when I grow up, we're gonna rescue a princess, just like daddy did! And then we're gonna...steal all the gold of the evil king! And make you a bed of it! And then..." Harold rattled on and on and on.

Kardraghnir had been extremely angry when he learned that his new Master was to be a child. To think, him, owned by a human! Like he was some sort of pet!

He was hundreds of years old, a youngling by dragon standards, but definitively more powerful and wise than any puny human!

They had captured him before he had properly awoken from his long sleep. A complete lack of honor, unlike most knight that came to fight him. And then... he shuddered to think about it. The torment. The rites and rituals. The horrible corruption.

He had been so thankful when the blasted god of Chaos appeared before him, promising to save him from the torment that was slowly driving him towards insanity, that he happily had accepted the devil's bargain.

He resented it now. But it could not be changed. Not even by someone as powerful as him.

But after hearing the child's tales of adventures and treasures, he could not help being curious. Was it a dreamer, or did it have the potential to be a true hero, worthy of his alliance after all?

Then he heard the accidental slip of tongue when he ranted about the glorious war he had seen... About how he killed another human. And at the tender age of 9, which was almost an egg by human standards.

Kardraghnir's respect for the child rose a notch at that. It rose even further as the child laid out his plans for an epic lair for him, as well as how they would fill it with treasures.

And to add to the child's good traits, the mighty dragon had tried to cast him off. Repeatedly. Doing some mindbogglingly dangerous stunts in the air that would have thrown off even an experienced Dragon Rider elf. Yet this child...this clumsy human child...had stayed on him like glue. It was like he was born to fly!

And, unlike the adults, the child treated him with respect, which he appreciated all the more for the resent lack of it.

Maybe this child would not be the worst Master to serve. He was, however, very wise. And as such, he reserved his judgement until he could see for himself if the child's actions matched his words.

* * *

Harold smiled as he hugged his new, gold-furred teddy-bear that night. What a wonderful day it had been. Even the feast after they had seen the plays were amazing, and he got to try the weird yummy lamb dish again!

Although he wasn't entirely sure why the chef said that it was his catch. He hadn't gone hunting with his father for almost a month. Maybe the chef confused him with someone else...or tried to be nice? Whatever it was, it was even more yummy than the last meal!

He giggled to himself as he recalled how all the stuck-up old dukes and whatever they were had even joined in on the rambunctious dancing around the crismas tree. Which, as the night bore on, dissolved from the festive, dignified dancing to something nearly feral and dangerous... and a lot of clothes came off towards the end.

He did wonder who had decided to change the star at the top of the tree with a small statue of Slaanesh. But he had to admit he felt pretty good, dancing wildly around in celebration of his new god, indulging in ever pleasure offered to him... He sighed happily. How he loved his life, and his daddy!

He looked around in his room, enjoying how many new, wonderful things he had. Most of his toys were in his playroom tho. And he had no idea where they put the frankincense, gold a myrrh.

His eyes next fell on the rare and exquisite wine that he had gotten from his dad's old friend, Dolmance. It shone in a warm redish color, like faded blood. And yet it was sweet and tasted like flowers and exotic fruits he had never before tasted. It ran over his tongue like syrup, and it tasted like liquid delight.

Dolmance had told him that it was one of a kind. Only some very few bottles of this wine were ever made, and it was centuries old. He didn't say much more, only smiling that secretive, pleased smiled of his as he wished Harold sweet and vivid dreams that night. What a strange thing to say so early in the morning...

His eyes then flickered to the crystal shaped diamond bottle with it's musky, flesh-colored perfume, and he smiled.

He kinda wanted to sneak over and smell it again. It was absolutely intoxicating! And this time the court wouldn't fall over themselves to kiss his feet and do other...things... to his body when he tried some of it on. Maybe he shouldn't use so much next time?

He sighed with pleasure as he remembered the scent.

The fragrance reminded him of summer nights. Of delightful baths and delicious dinners. It reminded him of his father's scent after he had played naked with one of the many pretty men or women that constantly vyed for his attention. It even reminded him of the wonderful, heady feeling he got when he first obtained his bear-pelt, for some reason... It smelled like he imagined Pleasure would smell...if it did have a smell.

And then a thought struck him.

"Praise Slaanesh, and thank you for all the wonderful Pleasures you brought to me today. And please bless mother and father, especially mother, she really needs to have more fun. And thank you for the perfume." Harold folded his hands and prayed with a child-like innocence that amused the divine Prince of Pleasure.

And for a second Harold almost felt as if lips brushed by his own, and he let out a small surprised gasp as his eyes flew open. But there was nobody else in the room but him.

He blushed furiously and smiled to himself, wondering if he had felt the great gods present. Did it mean Slaanesh was please with him? He really hoped he was. He wanted to be the best Slaaneshi ever! Lord Slaanesh had done so much for him!

He felt his little heart fill with joy at the though that maybe, just maybe, the great Slaanesh had noticed him. And he swore to himself then and there that he would do everything in his power to become one of the great Champions of Slaanesh when he grew up.

Then his father would be so proud of him! And Slaanesh would be happy with him! And, and...

Before he even knew it, his eyes fluttered close, and he drifted off into the land of dreams, where all the wonderful, magical things a child could ever want, happened.

And on a lone chair in the dark room sat a well-used bear. It seemed almost sad and shabby amongst the other opulent toys surrounding it. And yet... And yet...

But what was the matters of the heart worth to a man drowning in gold? And so the boy slept. Muttering. Moaning. Whatever he was dreaming, it was fun and filled with pleasure.

And so we leave our hero, sleeping. And the innocent teddy-bear watching. Alone in the darkness of the night.

* * *

NOTE: I did extensive research for this chapter. If you wonder if any of this is realistic, the answer is yes...yes it is. Someone actually had this created at some point.

Short of the obviously fantasy inspired jewelry (to stand in for what was high, HIGH brand-names jewelry and watches) every single item I describe has been created by someone at some point. Including the gifts, and boy was that hard to select and limit!

(Although I may have mixed and matched a bit, to make the whole thing a whole lot more opulent than any individual tree, gift or decoration. Do remember that Sigvald is favored by Slaanesh, whom crafted the Gilded Palace for when when he asked for it, add to it later, and tend to treat him like a favorite child. And if his money runs out, he probably go on a raid and 'conquer' some more.)

The Wine of Dreams - A real Warhammer creation that has tempted many, MANY people to join the various Cults of Pleasure in the Empire.

Dolmance - I know, I know. I may have fiddled a bit with the timelines, but I never could get a properly good view on the exact timeline for when he lived vs when Sigvald lived. Only that it was both in the era of the Sigmar universe. And, let's face it, Sigvald IS more than 300 years old... At some point in his life he may well have met Dolmance.

*Loo = Toilet.

*The tree stand is actually covered in swarafski crystals. But Harold can't tell the difference.

*Keeping the story in it's original language, I will use british terminology rather than american. Pudding pretty much just means dessert. Not necessarily pudding. lol


End file.
